


A Cold Day in Hell

by 666XERODELUXE



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kicking addicitons, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, People trying to change, Slight Canon mechanics/lore alteration, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/666XERODELUXE/pseuds/666XERODELUXE
Summary: A recently descended demon goes on a rampage for unknown reasons. Could the offer of something they've never experienced be what stops their warpath or would it simply fuel their desire to continue.
Relationships: Angel Dust/OC
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time I've written a fic in a while so please leave constructive criticism on what I can change. It is important to note that this chapter is a prologue and really is more of a warm up and to introduce the MC and setting. The first real chapter will come in a week or so.

The revolting stench of burning flesh was pervasive through the nightclub; what once was the premier locale for debauchery and hedonism for the detestables of Pentagram city was left a smouldering mess caked in blood and viscera. The crackling of fire perpetuated the creaking tunes of the ravaged walls. The collapsed cabaret was barely holding up; I knew we were going to get hell for this.

“Call the boss man… That… thing took us fucking three hours to kill.” Lamented my senior, a stalwart demon-been here several decades longer than I have. Despite his seniority he was relegated to simple bouncer work; not that he found this offensive-he took pride in his intimidating figure. 

“Well we really showed that freak what-for didn’t we?” I meekly let out, voice strained from the extensive screaming moments ago. He responded with a grumble, a hand motioning me away. A hand expressing their disappointment in me.

I stepped out, the heat of the flames subsiding as the relatively cool air of hell washed over me; the roaring flames replaced with the urban bustle of Hell and it’s boundless skyscrapers and miscellaneous edifices painting the scarlet sky.

Yet it never left me.

Feeling the heat razing the belly of the building, the sound of the panicked demons fleeing for their lives, the sight of his arm being cleaved off-

I hand quivers as I fumble for my phone, the boss is going to be devastated when he hears about this-

_ Bang _

_ Kapow _

_ Pew _

There was no sufficient verbage to properly describe the sounds that soon followed. 

The deafening crack of thunder, thrice repeatedly had my body cascading in fear. Quickening palpitation, saline beads above my brow, already nervous hands further frightened. All sense of reason now replaced with paranoia.

I hurriedly drew my firearm and rushed inside, apprehensive hands attempting to convince my legs to turn 180 and run-to run and forget this.

But how would that be any different from before?

I hoarsely shrieked as I flung the door open-firearm in hand.

_ RATATATATA _

rang the vociferous fusillade of lead that just pelted my abdomen.

_ clink clink  _

A silent song reverberating as empty casings pelted the floor. 

“You know it’s awfully rude to insult someone so abrasively-especially when they’re still in the room.”

Pain birthed from the spray of rounds boring into my body married with his grating voice hacking away my sense of hearing alongside the morbid sight of flesh ameliorating itself. What minimal vigor I had exploded out, waning strength in my arm struggling to pull the trigger back only for a storm of ammunition to shred my conflicted hand. 

I felt my leash on life was loosening once more, his oppressive form crushing all sensations of the world, oppressing all hold I had left in this existence. 

_ My second chance _

Senses diluted, the already silent thudding of footsteps becoming quieter-cool air briefly exposed to my skin until

Nothing.


	2. Ignited Smolders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prolific mob boss is pronounced dead, tensing everyone living in the slums he lorded over. The enigmatic demon who killed him struggles to recuperate. Angel Dust shows difficulty in kicking some of his old habits.

“Ya heard whu happen’d ta Frankie’s joint da otha day?”

“I have, that makes three of his establishments left in ruins, correct?”

“Yeah, worst uv all was that nuthin’ was even looted from ta wreckage outta any of tha joints!”

“It’s rather dastardly what some demons would do to others for-”

“We interrupt your daily drudgery and torment to bring you some breaking news.” Echoed across the multitude of telescreens decorating the superstructures of hell. The duet of Killjoy and Trench superseding the miscellaneous advertisements and broadcasts.

“Frankie Firebrandt was recently found deceased in his office; nothing was taken from his personal safe with only his revolver missing from his person.” Swiftly followed behind the initial proclamation, the vitality commonly present in Katie dulled; presumably from being bothered to record another segment later today. 

“Gee Katie, you’d think this sort of thing wouldn’t happen in Hell… y’know, the place where sinners are sent?” Quipped the male anchor, his cheeky delivery goading Killjoy to respond unprofessionally.

“How about you shut the fuck up Tom, and use what little brain you have underneath all that rubber. It’d take people more braindead than you to fuck with one of the top candidates to be the next overlord.” Killjoy rebutted, venom practically dripping from her teeth. 

“Y-yeah, well despite however stupid they may have been, they didn’t just assassinate Frankie alone-they’ve killed each and everyone of his guards and several patrons of the Obsidian Rose Suites. And the few patrons left alive were driven to lunacy-well more lunacy-saying that it was only one person who raided the suite. Sputtered Tom, expected backlash undermined by what he got. He shuffled slightly to the left, now a little further away from Killjoy than when the broadcast started.

“Well I think it’s fucking bullshit that it was just one demon who managed to kill dozens of armed bouncers and the most powerful demon over the Slums!”

“Solo perpetrator or not they’ve still left a huge power vacuum in place around the southern slums of Pentagram City; this is really going to screw up one of the only peaceful sectors in hell as rival gangs will fight it out.”

“This has been Channel 666 News reporting to you-the death of Frankie Flamebrandt.”

  
  
  


Pain infinitely rippling through my body, the cascading notes of searing agony danced with the flesh ever so slowly covering more and more of my flayed body. The pungent aroma of one of Hell’s dingy alleyways left a grueling tattoo on my olfactory senses, their wet streets and walls made poor seating and the tattered posters of Valentino’s whores stung my eyes. 

Skin over muscle over fat over bones all wreathed in a delicate arrangement of nerves and blood vessels. I have gotten used to this 

The number of times I collapsed during the assault on Frankie’s Suite was uncountable, partially due to the sheer number of guards and their tendency to go for my head. Gray matter that’s blown away doesn’t bring back the memories on it when it’s torn out. The nerve endings still spark as if something’s awry with the connection-offering me a view of a painting whose entire subject was brutally torn off.

What have I forgotten? It would be blissfully ironic if I could remember what eludes me. The vague recollections of my past life and it’s trials and rewards could all be fabricated within my mind as my brain attempts to do more than put two and two at an attempt to fill the chasmal gaps. 

I looked once more at the nails on my hands, drowned by the pure, milky white stubs whose null shell reminded me of what little I remember. Dormant urges to suppress their growth resurfacing as the palpitation of my tired heart rose in accordance with the pangs of fear.

No

Despite all of the losses I may have endured, toppling one of Hell's most influential figures was an impressive feat and the distant chiming of Channel 666's broadcast intermingled with the clicking of Frankie’s massive revolver was reward in and of itself. Forgetting the keratin coating of my fingertips entirely.

"Just gotta give it another hour till my legs have enough spunk in them to actually lift me off the ground..." 

  
  
  
  
  


"How's that for a 'pale-fuzzed, B-list slut' you miserable lump of lard? You really lost the bite to your bark when you started caving in after the first minute!" Was accompanied by an obnoxious laugh and a kiss sent flying back.

The adult actor nonchalantly shuffled out of the client's seedy dwelling with a spring in his step, hands reaching for his phone. Angel Dust initially found himself perturbed by the client, whose motives were to prod at his psyche, but quickly found joy in crushing their baseless critiques with a simple  _ demonstration _ . 

Bathed by the cool, humid air and nostalgia that was resident to the Southern quarter of Pentagram City, Angel found himself partially rejuvenated, a breathy sigh escaping an open mouth as a rumble went off within one of his suit pockets. 

Business was somewhat slow recently, so the opportunity to flaunt his worth was golden; not that Angel took severe offense to the decline, after all the parabolic nature of his popularity was common in the business. 

What he was worried about however was what Charlie so urgently needed to say to him that she called him now seven times and left a voice message. His mind was autonomous in assuming that she was calling to lecture him on something, he knew he had nothing to hide now but perhaps he wasn’t exactly as straight and clean as he thought?

It wasn't like pressing play on the call would make her any less mad at him now, he’d save her spiel for later since something  _ far  _ more pressing had robbed his attention for the past hour. 

_ FRANKIE FIREBRANDT PRONOUNCED DEAD; FATE OF THE SOUTHERN SLUMS UNKNOWN. _

He sauntered cooly from one of the countless alleyways customary of the slums into a more densely populated urban dwelling, the traditional clamor of streetside vendors and hustlers heightened by heavily armed members of small gangs giving each other and the remnants of Frankie’s posse the stink eye. It felt as if someone could clichely yell “Fight!” and rouse their trigger fingers.

A hot spot as expansive as one of the quarters of the city hasn’t been left up for grabs for the sixty-seven years Angel Dust’s been homewrecking in hell. It would make  _ less  _ sense to not have any stakes on this hot spot, whoever controlled this would be raking in tax and protection cash from hundreds of small businesses.

He never could quite pin the reasoning for his admiration over Hell’s violent ballroom dances; even when he doesn’t participate in the carnage. He liked musing to himself all the different possible reasons for his fascination, with responses that ranged from as pretentious as appreciating the subtle beauty of struggle or as objective as securing a crucial sect of land for himself or Charlie-he could never decide between the two-and he even toyed with the whimsical idea that perhaps this skirmish may differ from the last, where a collective epiphany is experienced by its participants and bystanders all that leads to the development of Hell towards a brighter future.

He always found that the funniest.

These ideas were nothing more than that, an explanation constructed by his mind to convince himself and anyone asking him on why he actually participates in the skirmishes.

There was no artistic enjoyment, there was no obligation and there was no desire for change.

There was only the thrill. A vague recollection of sensations and stimuli long forgotten after he started taking his hotel stay more seriously.

A breathy sigh escapes his open mouth.

“Charlie sure is going to give me hell for this, isn’t that right snookums?” Angel cooed to himself as he patted his suit, feeling for his reliable Thompson stored within. He had a level of comfort knowing that any sensible gang member would think twice about slinging lead at Valentino’s biggest cash cow; despite his retreat from that position. At least Valentino’s name was good for something.

. Of course there was always some looney out for blood alone, Hell’s full of raving lunatics like them, it would kinda defeat the point of hell if their numbers were lacking but Angel still felt fit to complain.

“Besides, I’m sure if any of them did step to me I’d be able to turn them into swiss cheese before-” Cut short by someone bumping into him, angel irately swiveled his head towards the perpetrator, only to be met back with a menacing glare from a white-haired, pale skinned demon in tattered robes far too big for their emaciated body.

“Yeesh, what a fuckin shit-lipped, d-bag. ‘ Scowled the spider before continuing along.

  
  
  
  


He couldn’t quite control his quaking body. Initially he presumed that his malnourished constitution was the sole reason for his uneasiness, but it was after running into that spider pornstar that he figured it was also fear.

  
  


Inklings of worry mutated into dread, and dread into these proclamations of weakness, a beguiling tune for the vultures of hell-vultures being both metaphorical or literal. 

He swore that there were eyes on his frame, scanning him up and done to determine if he were truly innocuous. Shuffling footsteps getting louder and louder as if his fictitious pursuants were growing in number and speed. He felt a pricking sensation on the tips of his fingers, a ringing inclination to jerk his hands out and gnaw at the irritating claws.

As quick as his atrophied legs could go he went, slightly leaning his upper body forward, under the assumption that a shift in weight would enhance his mobility.

It’s not as if he didn’t have a destination, he knew that he certainly wouldn’t be able to move for much longer so he needed something, something essential to his continued survival here.

He stumbled beside some passersby, glaring at them too, before staggering into one of the buildings lining the streets of the slums, it’s sign being what enunciated what exactly he needed.

  
  


Boogles

‘Boogels’ happened to be the strangest name he’s encountered in Hell, and that sure was a bold statement. Of course even the overwhelming curiosity wouldn’t be enough to sway him, it was the  _ pictures _ .

Bagels, bologna, banana milkshakes all cheerily displayed as if it were a cornerstone cafe; the only thing really differing from the latter would be demons publicized on the pictures instead of humans, and a rotting corpse festering inches away from the doorframe.

The grey devil tried his best not to appear disheveled, strangely comforted by the ambiguous nostalgic sense he got off of the building. He kicked the wayward cadaver to the side cautiously, before gingerly opening the door and peeking in. Greeted by a warm yellow ambiance that contrasts sharply with the sharp red tint to Hell’s dark skies along with a faint pastry smell.

“Oh come on in honey, you look starvin!” Exclaimed the clerk in a sugar-dipped voice that caught him off guard; it was hard to believe that there were demons with voices so soothing on his ears. Her soft, fruit voice contradicted the demon’s hefty build, it was strange to feel the pulsating sensation resonating from his fingers evacuate so quickly.

She motioned him to a small window seat and asked him to wait momentarily while she tended to other customers, giving him more time to absorb his surroundings. The interior was larger than the outside gave away, mostly because there weren’t as many windows on the street side as would be expected. An architectural defect? Poor foresight? Unimportant as his impatient mind quickly switched to scrutinizing the decor over the pastel yellow walls, soaking in the contents of photographs of food or the clerk to posters advertising some bizarro rehab-hotel fusion. 

“Here’s your menu hun’.” Startled him, the supposed owner passing him a menu and a small ringer. 

“Just press that there bell when you’re ready to order and we’ll get your order out as best as we can.

“Y-yeah, thanks.” Was all he could croak out of his strained voice, offering a meek smile in an attempt to seem less awkward. He spent no time making his decision, choosing the cheapest option on the menu and swiftly ordering-thinking that it would be the least impactful when he skipped paying the bill. 

Wait

Since when did he care about how demons felt, it was an obstruction, an obstacle to his acceptance. This was… this was… nice? There was a turbulent discourse construed within the confines of his thoughts, so much so that he paid no mind to the door opening.

“Hey Boog, where’s the mazuma I was promised~” Sang the intruder, a heavy assault rifle cradled by his thick, hewn arms. Thrown out of his delusion, the grey demon became keenly aware that an unsavory situation was about to break out.

The troupe of three enforcers all packing automatic weapons stood by the door frame meanicingly, the ringleader walking further before slamming his hand on the counter.

“Reggie Please, I don’t have enough to pay what you’ve asked for without going under. You’re asking almost thrice of what Frankie used to ask me for.” 

“I don’t give a damn about how much youse was payin’ Frankie, This is how much I want and that’s how much youse is payin!” Asserted the enforcer, a swift motion and respondent click from the rifle indicating that the safety was now off.

“Wait!” A third party exclaimed; a valiant voice oozing power and righteousness uncommon for demonkind. “Have you no respect for yourselves, no shame? You hassle a humble business woman for what-to thicken your wallet?” 

Proud and conscientious, he demonstrated his swagger by outstretching his arms and clenching his fists.

“Now you wretched curs, watch as I demonstrate the true might of justice!” 

“Hey yo Shmurden, fill this chump up with lead will ya’?” 

Watching one of the lackeys dump about thirty rounds into the self-righteous demon was both humorous and fear-inducing. Forgotten apprehension flooded his body, his eyes darted from the nice restaurateur to the intimidating gangsters and to the dolt who thought he could take on armed demons ready to shoot at the drop of a hat.

_ If I wait here, then they’ll probably leave after getting what they want. _

He could wait, yes, he could sit idly on his thumbs and wait for them to rob this poor, sweet lady he just met-a poor sweet lady only really in this situation because of him.

No, there is bound to be collateral when something of such a scale is conducted, could he properly deal with the fallout of every single other nice demon? Furthermore, why should he risk his life and his purpose for someone he met moments ago?

“Huh, is this seriously all youse could muster?” The enforcer complained, taking a hand off of his rifle to grab the owner by the collar. “That’s not even enough to buy out a few quality hatchetmen! Now… give me one good reason why I shouldn’t burn some powder into your skull” 

The owner, left a whimpering mess barely managed to plead “I-I could continue paying you, just l-let me live and keep working!” 

“Hmmmm, let’s give it some thought boys. Now we got some dumpy old shit who's sorry excuse for a cafe is raking in less and less spinach, month by month, it doesn’t seem good for business if you make other joints also go complacent-ya dig?” Digging the muzzle of the rifle under her jaw, forcefully pressing up underneath her.

The grey demon shot up, enforcer heads turning to see the skeletal demon give them a penetrating glare before croaking “May I use the facilities, I’ve been holding it in since you fellas came in here.”

“Can’t you fucking see what’s goin’ on ya stupid fuckin’ boob!?” Clamored the chief gunman, returning the stink eye with a gruesome scowl of his own. Grey demon remaining stalwart, abounding robes masking his shaking frame. 

A momentary pause, enforcer’s expression softening slightly in contemplation.

“Hmmm, alright sure kid, you’ve got a solid pair for a fuckin twig. Hey Schmurden, follow him in and make sure he doesn’t try anything funny-don’t want him tryna run out on our little show.” A lackadaisical response from the gang leader followed by a swift hand motioning one of the lackeys towards the grey demon. 

He could feel eyes peeled on the back of his head almost as intensely as the muzzle of the rifle inches from his back. 

_ Step step  _ went the quiet reverberation of footsteps, the noise burning louder and louder in his mind while tensed hands fumbled the door to the restroom open; fingers screaming for long-desired catharsis. Followed in by the hulking enforcer who gave a sly grin, cheekily mentioning how he could turn the other way if the grey demon was piss-shy. 

With all of the strength he could muster, the grey demon explosively pivoted his body, the same ansty hands which opened the door drawing the massive revolver plundered from the mob boss. 

Motion warranting movement from the guard, fingers pulling on the trigger once more.

An orchestra of ammunition wedded the instantaneous, foul smell attributed to a freshly produced cadaver, the gratifying thud of a singular body hitting the floor was the cherry on top. The enforcers, patrons and owner of the establishment were thrown into the thralls of suspense, as they anxiously awaited for who was the supposed victor.

…

Were they not coming out?

  
  
  


“Fuck agh…” Sighed the grey demon, clutching his now injured flank, the stifling of tears becoming increasingly difficult. Apprehensive eyes darted around the restroom, resting on the small window for ventilation. Thoughts of escape flooded in his mind as the blood pouring out of his wound started to lessen. If he attempted to escape, then there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t chase after him, especially considering he just shot one of their own. Overwhelming urge to silence his screaming nails tore at his psyche; dampening the hyperbolic urges by drawing lines and figures with his fingers.

“Looks like there’s no way around it, the only real way out of this is through them…” Accepting his only option, fingers tracing circles around the spot where the bullet hole was.

The door flung open, tattered cloak parted open by his partially outstretched hands, said hands holding a lavish handcannon and assault rifle stripped from Schmurden. 

“Y’know I was lyin’ ‘bout you before when I said you had a pair-thought youse was some pussy-lipped bitch tryna escape. For what it’s worth now, you’ve more than proved your grit, now drop the-”

The enforcer was swiftly interrupted by the deafening roar of the hand-cannon firing at his lackey, the fromer’s arm torn cleanly off. Dense recoil throwing his hand back as he slightly swiveled his torso to better angle the assault rifle.

Patrons ducking while the volley of slugs makes its way into the lackey’s torso, the grey demon quipping: “Don’t you know it’s a pretty bad play to talk during a fight, easiest way to lose your focus.” 

The enforcer wasted no more time in starting his assault, firing his stream of bullets, hand still gripping the owner. The grey demon moving the rifle to guard his head, feeling the spray of bullets impact all over his body, the rifle lessening the damage to his head. The patrons behind him jumping out of the way or moving their bodies behind any furniture in proximity in an attempt to prevent their death while the grey demon remained there.

Enduring the ostensibly relentless barrage of bullets was near impossible; the battle to retain his consciousness flourishing in difficulty. Blood spurted out of open wounds and his agape mouth, ruptured muscles and ligaments no longer offering their support as he fell to one knee. 

It took another few seconds of the assault and several body systems left in a devestative state until the firing finally stopped. With no glimpses of hesitation or distraction, the gray demon tossed the ragged gun and pulled the revolver back in focus. Ravaged arms failing to steady the shot in an appropriate time frame tensing up to lessen their trembling; the enforcer scrambling to reload his gun, freeing his hand from the owner’s neck to search for the magazine on the side of his belt.

“I’ve got you dead in my sights, drop your gun or I’ll blow your head clean off.” Roared the grey demon, hands finally stabled enough to take a clean shot. 

“W-what the fuck is wrong with youse, I’ve shot youse with enough rounds to put the fuckin’ Radio Demon six feet under!” Complained the enforcer, unfamiliar worry painting his face as he made no attempt to comply with the demand.

In an effortless motion the gun’s trajectory was altered, the grey demon pulled the trigger. The hand once holding the empty rifle now severed, a guttural scream bellowing from the gang leader as he fell to his knees, clutching his injured arm.

The grey demon picked themselves up with the assistance of a nearby demonkin; typically he would’ve refused the offer for help but he was in no physical state to worry too petulantly about his ideals. He was torn over if the warmth in his chest was the satisfaction of victory or his heart overworking itself. 

“I’ve got no intention of sparing you, your fate is in the hands of the person you threatened… I just wish I could’ve extended the same grace to your abettors.” Guttural wheezing escaping the intervener’s bloody maw. Coiling anguish conflicting with the resounding need emanating from his nails over what occupied his fried mind.

The cafe owner gently smiled, crouching down to the perpetrator's level to better help him up.

"Y'know you've said some really hurtful things and you sure have acted in a way that's left me disheveled to the core young man, but let's put that in the past now shall we?" Cajoled Boog, the smile on her face widening. 

The grey demon tensed, he couldn't fathom how sweetly a demon was treating the same person who threatened to put a bullet in her moments ago. Sat awkwardly in a seat, he took cautious bites of the food he was offered by the demons eating here while his focus remained on the owner, curious if all of this was a ploy.

"A-are youse fucking serious... Because of you, I lost my crew, my heat and my hand. What makes youse think that by sparing me, you're giving me something' good?" Complained the enforcer, attempting to come across as fieres through moist eyes and quivering lips. 

The restaurateur couldn't help but chuckle lightly, her demeanor becoming even more disjointed from the vibe of the setting. She gingerly lifted her low dress to reveal a silver, metallic prosthetic leg in place of her right calf.

"As long as yer kicking you've got a shot at another chance! Don't let anything hold you back from what you wanna do-as long as it ain't at the expense of other good folk." 

"Wh-"

"I'm really sorry for yer friends... I wish they didn't pay for this with their lives-I really do..." 

Unbelievable 

How could she've been so naive? It was obvious that he'd take this as an opportunity to exact revenge on the two of them. Peop- demons like this don't learn, they don't want to be redeemed.

"Thank you... I mean it, I'm so fuckin' sorry ma'am, I really and truly am. I was acting like a real palooka…” Bawled Reggie, voice uncharacteristically laden with what seemed like guilt.

“There’s nothin’ to it sweetheart, just try some honest work-well as honest as Hell will let you!” Boog giggled in response, patting the former on the back as if all he did was bump into her on the street.

The all encompassing discomfort began abating, tissue mending itself at a quickening intensity. Nearby demonkin were shocked at his gaunt figure rejuvenating himself, his sallow frame and lace, comparable to a fork or spoon being dropped to the floor emanating from below them.

Noticing the apparent confusion plastered on the cafe dwellers’ faces prompted him to answer them.

“It’s the bullets, the ones that hit me at least. My body’s pushing them because they’re interfering with my regeneration.” 

Satisfied with the answer, the patrons took this as an invitation to further inquire more about his ability. With his agitation climbing, he simply left the seat-a bloody puddle present in his absence-and moved towards Boog and the perpretrator. Spilling any information about his abilities could jeopardize his mission in the future, not that he didn’t already give them a showy display of his capabilities.

“Do you have any more food I could eat, ma’am? I’ve got to eat a lot more to gain back the calories I lost mending my flesh.” His inquiry coming across as more of a demand, though the store-owner took no offense to it. 

Boog nodded her head in the same gentle way she acts, moving behind the counter to fetch her mop.

“The whole lot of you can stay fer as long as you like; just make sure ya don’t forget yer things when ya leave!” Extolled the restaurateur, whose expression continued to betray the trauma she experienced shortly before. While Boog was doing this, the grey demon snatched the rifle from the ground, once again glowering at Reggie, only to receive nothing in defense.

Boog eagerly showed him to the kitchen at the back of her establishment and told him to help himself; the grey demon responded with an eager nod. He found it perplexing how Boog managed to run this place by herself, considering there were no staff members present out in the front or here in the kitchen. With his hunger becoming more of a pressing issue, he shrugged away the question and focused his attention to the large refrigerator she held for cooked goods that didn’t sell over the past few days. 

He picked and ate from the refrigerator, struggling to select what he felt was the most delectable out of all of the choices. He eventually just settled on eating whatever he felt would best sate his aching sweet tooth, choosing a rather fluffy banana cream pie alongside a glass of a light blue beverage labeled ‘biteberry milk’ to wash it down; planning to devour the both without the need of any utensils. 

_ Why were bananas the only real fruit in hell? _

There was a whimsical sentimentality to the food, not only from the romantic blend of the tart, sweet fruits from the two and the richness present in the cream and milk; there was something more intimate about the experience. The trance he found himself in only became apparent when he felt a damp sensation stinging his cheeks, he had been crying.

He hurriedly wiped his face with the backs of his hands, aiming to erase any trace of this weakness. Disliking the unfamiliar wistfulness, he clumsily withdrew from the half-eaten mess he had left, discarding the half-eaten pie into what he believed the garbage was.

The grey demon washed himself at the sink, all physical traces of the tear stains erased with the food stains. In any case he was mostly full now alongside his flesh being fully mended; now all he needed was a new target.

And he knew the perfect way to get one.

Darting out of the kitchen, he scanned the cafe for the enforcer, only for his absence to be noted. He asked Boog if she knew where he went, only for her response to indicate that she had no clue-as the perpetrator simply thanked her and left the building clutching his shot hand. 

Wait. 

One of his hands was shot, then wouldn’t there be some blood spilt on the floor if he was haphazard about wrapping it? Eyes now focused on the floor to verify if his theory was correct, crimson droplets staining the cream flooring ringing like the ‘correct’ chiminings played during game shows. 

He rushed out of the building, eyes still glued to the floor as he followed the red breadcrumb trail to his next ‘informant’.

The grey devil was on the hunt once more.

  
  
  


Angel Dust was sorely disappointed to find out that there was no outright combat-he was excluding the minor brawls most drunk or stupid demons find themselves in; the most ‘conflict’ he was exposed to was very intest glaring between two gruff enforcers of rival gangs and he wasn’t fully convinced there was no inteded homoeroticism. The overall peace of the slums was surprising, it was unprecedented that a massive hotspot opened in one of the most ‘dog eat dog’ sections of Hell, all for the typically trigger happy goons to just glare at each other sensually.

He would groan in disappointment, but that would be the seventeenth time for the past minute.

Granted he wasn’t so desperate for stimulation that he’d go as far as to start the fight himself; there was something more undesirable in being the initiator than just someone who intervened. Besides if it was  _ stimulation  _ he was craving then he knows all too well the many other ways he could get it.

The spider almost considered returning back to the hotel, but he knew that would warrant a lengthy sermon from Charlie regarding him neglecting her numerous call attempts and how shooting demons under any circumstance is amoral. Abruptly, the phone in his coat pocket started vibrating once again.

_ Speak of the Devil’s Daughter. _

Frustrated at the repeated attempts to phone him, he caved in and responded to Charlie’s call. 

“Angel Dust, Vaggie and I were worried sick! Wait, what’s all the commotion around you?” Clamored Charlie, her voice exuding a complex mix of exaltation and ire.

“Were the two of you seriously blowing my ameche up for that noise? And it’s nothing, just strollin’ ‘round the Southern Slums.” Angel Dust responded carelessly, a smile creeping on his face as he examined his nails.

“Angel the place is now a hot spot, Frankie’s-”

“Yeah I know, some lone schmo knocked him off-the witness testimonies were really vivid y’know. Nothing’s actually going down here, it’s almost as if everyone’s too scared to start anything either.” 

“Well we were really scared something happened to you, the least you could’ve done was sent a message saying you were fine…” Charlie panted in response, dejection hazily lining her words.

“Well… ah I’m sorry toots I’ve been puttin’ off on calling ya’ ‘cuz I wanted to bring something sweet for the Hotel-y’know a little something for these trying times.” Angel lied, his unchanged tone and confidence enhancing the apparent authenticity of the statement.

With a believing ‘ooooooh’ in response he told his goodbyes and now moved with newfound-but unwanted-purpose. 

It didn’t take him long to decide that he'd simply bring some sort of dessert; he always found the rich mounds of moist chocolate cake to be the most mentally soothing. The only problem was that most quality food joints were few and far between-especially the ones makin’ confectioneries and treats. Demons really loved to indulge themselves in worldly pleasures but a whole lot of them were really useless at providing those artisan goods back-even with the promise of incredible wealth and prestige.

Of course now that he’s said he’s doing this he wasn’t gonna skimp out and buy something shitty to half-assedly confirm his con; he no longer was expected to bring something nice-he was now  _ obligated  _ to do so.

Angel eyed the establishments lining the streets of the Slums, disappointed when most of them were just booze-holes, nightclubs or casual dining joints. He searched his memory as well, trying to recall if he’d passed by a bakery or cafe during his stroll here. No that one’s a bar, that’s a whore house, that’s a nightclub, that’s a cannibal eatery-wait ‘Boogles’.

He’s been to Boogles before, he wasn’t sure if it was an accident or impulsive curiosity that brought him inside last time, but he remembered having as pleasant of an experience as you could have in the southern Slums; only really put off from all of the food’s names starting in the letter ‘b’. He remembered the store to have been about seven minutes from where he was-right around the spot where he bumped into some asshole.

Now certain of what he wanted, Angel Dust started on his way to the store. Strangely he found himself pretty elated at the idea of doing something nice for the Hotel crew and Alastor, he couldn’t quite put his finger on the sensation but he felt like prying at the source of the pleasantness would kill his mood.

So he moved, with a metaphorical skip in his step, the thrill he was craving now dampened. Angel’s temperament stayed strong; even when another demon shoved into him again. He wasn’t going to give them the benefit of souring his disposition, just shrugging and moving along; silently noting the similarities between this demon and the last to bump into him.

“Eh, the last one was a good foot shorter; no way it’s the same lug.” Rationalized the pornstar; mind concentrating on the cake he was going to buy and the reactions of his acquaintances.

  
  
  


I bumped into another demon by accident, still a little oblivious to the sudden change in my size and physique. Despite this being the body I’m most frequently in, it seems like my body gets used to their forms within the first thirty minutes or so, a trait whose presence I favored far more than decried, though this didn’t make it any less inconveniencing when I grew or shrank.

The blood trail left by the enforcer seemed to dry up, I was just filling in the blanks of the droplets absent on the ground. Any sort of doubt harbored in my mind over the perpetrator's supposed location was quenched when more beads of sanguine vitality speckled the pavement. The trail detailed by the crimson dew lead into one of the narrow alleyways, cruelly forking from the sidewalk between two buildings.

I slunk into the dark alleyway, lowering my body to dim my presence. Inching nearer and nearer to the void, the carcinogenic scent of a cigarette agitating my nostrils. Eyes adjusting to a dark miasma of uncertainty, only picking up fragmentary silhouettes and a smouldering light emanating from one of the outlines.

I drew my revolver, clicking the hammer and aiming it at what the silhouette from which the malignant smoulders emanated from-a blind presumption.

“I never woulda thought that the ‘geese’ who killed Firebrandt would just be one cat; that too the same kinda sucker eatin; at a crap joint like ‘Boogles’; or that he’d be the same stand-up gentleman to stand up for to a couple of thugs for no gain.” Indifferently articulated the enforcer; the flickering cigarette snuffed out, drenching the two of them in absolute obscurity.

“Youse come to bump me here because youse didn’t wanna take back your promise back there; you could shoot me here done and dirty with that heavy gat you pried from Frankie.”

“For a two-bit thug who only acted for money, you’re acting awfully conscientious now.” Retorted the grey demon.

The two of them lightly chuckled after their exchange; there was something so unusually equalizing about their senses scrambling to put together details in the hazy, inky atmosphere; as if they were two strangers cooling their palms on irons gates, rattling on opposite sides only aware of the other by the distant vibrations. 

“You should already know I didn’t tail you to put a bullet in your head, I’m not the type of person to break my word. You’ve been here a lot longer, I need a target.”

“A target, c'mon kid your gonna have ta’ be more specific, I don’t-”

“Someone influential, someone if I kill will throw hell into chaos-not like Frankie’s death just putting everyone on edge.” Interrupted the grey demon. 

"What makes youse think I'd help youse do that?" 

"You have no reason to, I thought I would threaten your life , but it doesn't seem as if you're as defensive about it as I hoped."

"Well... Lucifer'd be the obvious answer; though you can't just put a bullet in a demon like him and expect it to work-you gotta get him to give it to you." Reggie contemplated, shallowly using his insight to offer something.

"That's not specific enough to be of any use to me."

"What you're askin' kid, is to push Hell into the throes of self-destructive chaos; it's like askin' to mop up the floor with a soggy piece of paper. There isn't much you can do, no matter how much grit you give it’ll be mostly impossible. "

" _ Mostly _ ." I enunciated, tenacity escaping from my gritted teeth and barely parted lips.

"It might be important to mention that the Morningstar's got a wife and daughter." Interjected the desolate enforcer.

"So they'd make for good leverage is what you're saying?"

"I don't know gray cat, you’d expect a demon to care fer nothin’ but themself and their worldly possessions-but not too many of them get married and have a kid." 

"Could you give me their locations?" 

"Nobody knows where Lillith is but the main man's daughter's running some stupid rehab joint, can't miss it. And don't think she'd be easy pickings... she's a royal and they ain't gonna roll over easily; on top of that there's been some radio chatter that Radio Demon's been holed up there. "

"A two-for-one opportunity huh, I could knock Alastor down and cripple Hell’s fragile hierarchy"

"Woah, woah, woah kid, you really think you've got the hootspa to go toe to toe with Alastor? He's the biggest new goose on the block; don't think you'd be coming back in one piece, even with your fancy schmancy healing."

"Don't bother yourself, just tell me where the place is." 

"Do I honestly look like the kinda chump to remember the specifics of a fuckin rehab clinic, in hell?" 

I expressed my frustration lowly, my mounting disappointment pulling my mouth into a scowl. "Is there anything you've got that could help me find them?"

"Ehhh... Oh, there's that big-shot, girly-boy pornstar Angel Dust; he's been crashing at that joint, rent-free, if he plays nice for the most part. To get a hold of him means you'd have to go to one of Valentino's creep joints so you can "book an appointment" with him." Suggestive chuckles trailing his digression hinted at Reggie's own experience with the actor.

A slight wrinkle from disgust remained invisible in the pervasive blackness; silence dominated the air for a few seconds.

“You’ve helped me enough… Reginald?” I Concurred, name eluding my mind.

“Reggie.” Corrected the triggerman, antipathy absent.

“Wait, grey cat, d’ya really think doing this’s such a great idea?” Once more interjected the thug seconds after, a length pause in between the two responses as if he were still indecisive in saying what he began saying.

“What’s it to you?” 

“I know I’m not the best bo to hear this from but, don’t ya think this could hurt any chance you have at becoming a better bird?” Attempted persuasion coming from a place of genuine intent, as a cautionary tale to someone who could still steer the course of their life.

“I don’t have anything to prove.” I retaliated, feeling the subtle sharpness to my words absent to my other responses.

There was no reason to linger any longer, as my presence may prompt more questions of the like. Wading out of the murky alleyway, I found myself back on the lively streets. 

I’d need to put in some leg work to find out where this rehabilitation clinic would be, though it seems as if the establishment is quite infamous, so perhaps wringing information from some other demon could work. Perhaps looking for this ‘Angel Dust’ character would be useful if I can’t find any leads, though I usually don’t like dealing with seedy-

So lost in thought I didn’t notice the demon walking right in front of me, the red box in their long, pink striped hands plunging from the impact that loosen the grip on it. As if it were some dormant instinct revived, I felt my body rip downward to save the package, muscles tearing from the violent motion. 

The responsive groan from the demon who I just crashed into transformed into a mellow sigh that burgeoned to gratitude; gratitude expressed in a somewhat nasally voice with a peppery, sensual inflection intertwined within it. The complex flurry of responses from the demon and my rattled brain had befuddled me, to the point where they transformed the world in view into a fuzzy haze of incomprehensible details. 

“Aren’t ya the same demon who's been bumpin’ into me-say what'd ya do to make yourself a foot taller?” Asked the demon, their cadence oozing nonchalance as they asked question after question.

“How’d ya move so fast just now? What’s your name? Ya gonna give me back my cake?”

There was a disarming nature about the demon, his expressive gesticulations overwhelm me less and less by each second. I handed his box back and watched him flip the cover open to inspect his package for any damage, exhaling contently to signal his satisfaction. 

“Well thanks for savin’ my cake toots, you plannin’ to answer any of my other questions now?” The demon appealed, their magnetizing personality drawing me in.

So, I humored them.

I walked on with them at a meandering pace, carefully answering most of their questions in ways that wouldn’t expose too much of myself. Under any other circumstance I would never have entertained this, but my rationale fell on deaf ears as I not only perpetuated our conversation but even found myself enjoying it.

I absorbed their physical features: pale fuzz covering their lithe body, rosy spots and stripes embellishing the canvas of their frame and face. Stolen glances of their heterochromatic sclera highlighted by their fuchsia eyeshadow to the form-fitting suit hugging their four-armed torso. I didn’t dare look too intensely at any point lower than their waist, only noting the black mini skirt that was tightly woven around their long, shapely legs. 

Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t feel any pangs of guilt for scrutinizing the appearance of demons; it was important to properly assess the danger anything could possess in a world which leaves me surrounded. After all I would only need to feel any culpability if I cared about how they’d respond. Though there’s no way that would be the case.

Right?

My mind danced around, skirting away from the  _ possibility  _ I  _ might  _ want to have an actual interaction with a demon, while the temptress furthered our conversations. Perhaps their ‘ability’ might be to charm or encapsulate others, maybe the box was laced with some sort of mental inebriant, maybe it’s because I like the way they talk and the way their whole body moves as they walk a-

I began to scream internally, mind broken between contemplating blowing my head off to forget that I’ve ever thought that and answering their questions.

“Speakin’ of which you new in hell? No ways youse just a bum-cuz they know me too.”

“Yeah, I’ve only been here for about two weeks.” 

“Well seein’ as you’re new to hell, I’d let you off easy for not knowin’ who I am-name’s Angel Dust.” Chided the demon, tail-end of the response unifying his conflicted mind and ripping him back into reality.

“You’re Angel Dust?” I chimed in, taken back by how ecstatic I came across.

“Ohhhhh so you have heard of me, huh?” Mewled Angel Dust, lidded eyes focused on his face while offered a smirk.

Disregarding the flux in my mental state I got to my point: “You live in the rehab place right-the one that Lucifer’s daughter runs.” 

“Ah geez, I never thought that was gonna be biting me in the back, but yeah-I stay at that joint rent-free and get the basic necessities.”

“Take me there; I wanna join.”

“Eh? You’re not pulling my leg?” Disbelief laced Angel’s words as his face contorted to match his tone.

The spider demon shrugged in compliance, remaining silent for a few seconds before questioning: “Y’know, you still haven’t given me ya name.”

I perpetuated the cycle of elongated pauses, not in any contemplative state over if I should tell them my name-I had already decided I would do so. The silence was for why I had decided so.

Throat croaking slightly, as if the acidic discord within my mind managed to scar my larynx, or this being my body’s final attempt to cease the unusual behavior. 

“Cain, my name’s Cain.”

  
  
  


For Cain, the cab that Angel Dust called on their collective behalf felt reminiscent of the River Styx he was promised upon death: a turbulent excursion where his long-passed memories seemed to flood in; though he felt betrayed at the lack of any longing or remorse that traditionally would be roused upon the recollection of any memories. 

Of course it wasn’t as if he remembered anything. his mind obscured nearly all details, save for the fragmented pieces of his life. He remembered what he worked to pay his bills and what he used to eat for lunch daily, he remembered his grandparents but not those who gave birth to him-most importantly he remembered his hero work.

There was a certain definitivity to his altruistic actions during his past life; as if he were told that everything were a lie told by his repaired brain trying to give him some sort of past-save for this. He recalled the opulent white costume with gold highlights; he recalled being a replacement figure of hope, whose masked persona lulled the intensifying fear of the masses within the city he lived in.

Yes, everything else could be a lie to him-everything but his crusades. He never once doubted that the shattered mirror of memories never dared reach his prestige nor his spirit. Of course he found himself to be doing things differently than how he did above; but in a world surrounded by  _ things  _ which could do away with him instantly-all alone on top of that-he’d need to fight a little dirtier.

Since his descent into hell, he’s found himself in a perennial cycle of combat and regeneration. The past few weeks were to say, well  _ hell.  _ The only respite he’s gotten from it would be everything that happened in the last hour. It felt strange refreshing to interact with somebody beyond the capacity of a shootout-as much as he hated to admit it.

Speaking of which, the spider spent the entirety of the ride on call with someone. There was evident disentrest plaguing his host, to the point where even he felt sympathetic for his plight. So he stuck his head out of the window of the ride, feeling the unexpectedly cool breeze of Hell wash over his face. He pulled his arm from clinging to the outside of the door up, biting the tips of his fingernails off.

Everything was fine

  
  


The cab ride dulled on for Angel Dust, as the monotony of the call almost lulled him to sleep. Incessant calls repeatedly kept informing him about Valentino's new proposals for work and how they were a far cry from the way he used to treat employees. He was used to this spiel, and how it seemed glossed over how negligible the changes really were. Valentino loved keeping a tight leash on his employees, he would never see fit in loosening it to any degree-especially for a dog who's run once.

The clingy grasp of Valentino's still had its hands tightly wrung around one of Angel's legs; dragging on and weighing Angel down. He longed for there to be a day where he was free from him; free of the monitoring, of the influence, of his control.

Of course he was especially upset that this interrupted his brief time with the enigmatic grey demon. He uncharacteristically felt like a dick for just leaving the tattered-cloak wearing demon hanging like that-especially when he seemed like a real brooder-sitting there like a dejected puppy. 

Granted, the grey demon had that same grey expression which mirrored his skin throughout the entirety of their interaction; so either he was completely smitten with Angel’s provocative display or he really had some social stuff he needed to work on. Not once was a new question or topic brought up by Cain.

Whatever, this was none of Angel’s business to deal with; he had his cake saved by him and in turn they asked him to take them to the hotel-it was that simple. 

Though.

Angel still felt drawn in by the demon, not out of any romantic or sexual attraction. Rather it was the intuition that they were  _ fun _ , as if underneath the naivete and introvertedness there was a violent mess. The perfect dance partner to satiate his addiction to thrill.

Of course all of this wasn’t simply baseless conjecture, he’d been eyeing him pretty sneakily. Taking note of the rifle slung around their cloak-cloak plentifully gored from several bullets. The only outlier was how not one scar or scratch was scribbled on their skin, silver hide unblemished in the slightest; a virgin canvas doomed to be defaced. What convinced Angel the most was the glare. Wild, crazed intensity that seemed as if it would tear the world in half just to devastate who it was directed at. 

The spider opened the door with one of free hands, another motioning his new acquaintance in, before entering himself and closing the door behind him. The grey demon soaking up the refurbished interior glossing the derelict architecture was as expected-the intermingled mishmash of awe and confusion; ignoring the two demons waiting in the lobby.

“Angel Dust! Who’s that with you?” Inquired the princess of hell, voice switching from estacicism to curiosity as her focus diverted onto the new demon.

“Ah just some chump who wanted to join the hotel.” Casually disclosed the spider. 

“OH MY GOSHHHHH YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT HERE!” Charlie gushed, closing the distance between the two instantaneously to shake their hands with fervent intensity.

“What’s that you’ve got in your hands?” Interrogated Vaggie, pointing towards the box in two of Angel’s hands.

“Cake, black forest cake specifically. I told ya that I’d be bringing something to cheer everyone up so I brought two somethings hehe.” Angel chided, uncovering the box to offer verification of his claim.

“And you over there, we don’t let patrons waltz in here with fully automatic weapons like it’s nobody’s business.” Vaggie’s attitude redirected to the guest, storming over to him after confirming that Angel’s cake wasn’t fictional.

“I’m sorry to say this, but I wouldn’t have lived long enough if I didn’t scrounge for this gun. I-is it too much to ask to keep it?” Stuttered Cain as he lowered his posture slightly to come across as more submissive.

“Vaggie I’m sure it’s fine!” Charlie chided in as she playfully high-fived Cain as a gesture of trust; grey demon reciprocating said action.

Angel glanced once more at the enigmatic demon, their sheepish posture contradicting with their hefty frame, overwhelmed at Charlie’s assault. He wondered what it would take for him to move towards someone with the same ferocity as when he lunged for the cake; what would make them drop this facade-if all of this was a facade.

Folding his doubled pair of hands and walking towards Vaggie, Angel Dust exhorted “Shouldn’t we get the others in for a slice of cake and to give the newbie a proper welcome?” 

We watched as Vaggie yelled for the others to get into the lobby, rousing the three others to make their entrances with their own, unique flair. Nifty quickly introduced herself with an enthusiastic handshake while Husk simply waved the grey demon off; it was the second that Alastor teleported in where things got interesting.

Cain's character had flipped around one hundred and eighty degrees, the general awkwardness and discomfort traded places with a cold intensity and confidence. Closed off shell opened and emotions now left presented on an open book, no caution or restraint in hiding his animosity for the radio demon and everyone else in the room.

"You're Alastor right?" The hands hanging by his side, cracking their knuckles wordlessly with their thumb.

Alastor’s smile sharpened around the edges as the static in the air grew harsher and harsher."Why yes, that's correct my good sir." Daemonic runes conjured around his person in response.

Charlie-still oblivious to the heavy atmosphere-came between the two and forced their hands into a handshake. Mounting enmity from the new demon curbed, shaving off the racor from his words to only leave an unwavering confidence in his articulation. Alastor similarly relaxed, tension fizzling out as the eldritch symbols ceased their orbit.

“It’s been wonderful meeting all of you, especially you Alastor.” Grip tightening around the whole of Alastor’s hand as they shook hands in a slow, heavy manner. “But is it possible if I could excuse myself? I probably smell and smell awful.” 

Head lowering slightly in disappointment, Charlie perked herself up as to not sour her mood.“Oh… Vaggie could you show them to the room next to Angel’s?” Charlie requested, hands brought together in a pleading manner.

Vaggie relented, leading Cain away to where the rooms were; one last exchange of looks between Alastor and the grey demon. 

  
  
  


The deluge of scalding water’s cessation was instantaneous, abruptly subjecting my body to the arid, nippy breath of hell. Sodden body wiped dry from the coarse towel, I tentatively pulled at the ragged clothes I scavenged from miscellaneous demons. 

As the enforcer claimed, the demon called Charlie was the proprietor of this establishment; though her forward and optimistic demeanor was unorthodox for a ‘princess of Hell’. I can’t grasp her capabilities as of yet, but there isn’t any need to be brash and strike now-especially with the Radio Demon so vigilant.

From what the one named Vaggie said to me during the small tour, she seemed acutely aware of my intentions. It felt as if every word she said to me was paired with the mental image of goring me with the spear on her person. I don’t think I could simply kill her, especially considering how close she is to Charlie-that would rouse suspicion and put me in an unsavory situation.

I flipped open the revolving chamber of the handcannon, eyeing the one round loaded in of the four-holed chamber. I pushed the cylinder back and tossed the gun onto the bed. If I was going to stay here in any capacity beyond a few days, I’d need to get a more sociable set of clothes that didn’t stink of sickened blood and decaying flesh. 

So I covered myself with the ruined attire and lept out from the window, being on the ground floor made this feat less impressive but infinitely less painful. If I were to look for any specific clothing it’d have to be something stretch-y that could withstand my fluctuating size-preferably in dark tones to hide my presence better. 

  
  
  


Angel walked down the lonely corridors of the labyrinthian hotel to Cain’s room-which was adjacent to his. He felt it would be a show of poor faith if he didn’t offer him a slice, even after the little display between him and Alastor. 

Rapping on the door with one of his plentiful knuckles he waited idly for a moment, aware of the racy things people tend to get in by their lonesome  _ all too well _ . But with no sounds of frantic movement or response, he surmised that the grey demon was either asleep or not in the room. Angel pulled on the door before sighing and pushing it open, revealing an untidy presentation of a discarded rifle alongside the open window and bathroom. He half-expect Cain to be disorderly with his possessions, half-expected him to be anally OCD about the position of things. 

Strutting towards the dresser besides the cot, he caught a glimpse of an ivory object resting in bed from his peripheral. Settling the serving of the confectionery down, he inched nearer to the bed and picked up the large, silver revolver to further inspect it. Of course it didn’t take him long to recall where he’d last seen the cannon-it was in the hands of Slum’s boss Frankie.

A grin curved on Angel Dust’s mug as he gingerly left the revolver where he found it-the way he found it. The stimulation he longed for wasn’t lost; he’d found a suitable replacement that far exceeded his expectations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading hehe... Please leave a comment on what I did wrong-I'll fix any grammatical errors I made. I really hope you found this as interesting as I did when I was writing it. This chapter took 3 weeks to write because of finals and school and totally not because I'm a slow writer.


	3. Sparking Cinders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain finds himself furiously upset at both his actions being undermined and being tailed by his new housemates. Angel Dust is not having a good time.

Sanguine skies dotted with wispy clouds, whose hues took evident inspiration from the atmosphere. Incongruent architecture lining the uneven sidewalks of the dilapidated slums; contour as chaotic as the denizens who walk the streets. The boisterous hubbub of the slums remained unadulterated by the death of Frankie, as if even the ravenous dogs of Hell feared the repercussions of pulling the metaphorical and literal trigger.

Though all of this hazily drifted in Angel’s peripherals. 

Pink irises swimming in black and white lakes moved in accordance with the object of their focus. Grey dressed in black, dressed in suspicion, drew the spider’s tracking gaze and secured it’s attraction. He’d noticed that Cain’s black tee was different from the ragged cloak and undershirt, though the means he obtained this was unknown. He saw the grey demon skirting past the armed men in green suits, giving puzzled looks as he stared at them.

A detailed figure endlessly shuffling through the sea of the slums, rife with demons obscured by the narrowing focus of the lens he was scrying through.

Angel moved the binoculars down from his eyes, gaze still glued to the grey demon. “He’s been walking forever Vaggie, he’s bound to be up to some weird shit if he isn’t takin’ the cabs!”

“I mean he’s obviously pretty poor, he probably just didn’t want to waste money on something he doesn’t need.” Reasoned the moth, spying through the lenses she pried from Angel’s web of hands. “Besides, he’s only been walking for an hour.”

Convincing Vaggie to help him was of little consequence or worry, as she herself was on her way to ask him for help when he popped the question. Though despite her eagerness to help him stalk the hotel’s newest residence, they have yet to manage a workaround to their poor chemistry.

Angel folded his arms in protest, an action unnoticed by Vaggie or their target. “Ah c’mon, ya really think he wouldn’t’ve pulled Frankie’s piece and threatened some cabbie to give him a lift?” Smacking the moth on the back of their head, causing the rims of their eyes to uncomfortably smash into the binoculars. 

Vaggie groans in pain and drops the binoculars from her face, jolting her body to the side to throttle Angel Dust. “You fucking dick that hurt!” She fumed as she pressed her thumbs onto his larynx; Angel Dust responding with uncoordinated flailing and defiant hacking.

Through their bickering, they managed to let their prey elude their begrudgingly unified ‘grasp’. Cain slipping behind familiar doors into a small, warmly lit cafe and out of their focus.

The spider demon waved his hands in front of her rage-stricken face as a show of surrender, white fuzz marred a purple tint from asphyxiation. “Normally I’m the one askin’ to be choked, but if we wait any longer then Cain coulda dipped!” Angel rubbed his sore neck, looking around to see if the grey demon was still in the vicinity.

Vaggie follows suit with the spider demon and tries to find the grey demon amongst the expanse of the crowd. “Damn it! It’s because of you we lost that estúpido hijo de puta, you fucking pendejo!” Seethed the moth demon, her profuse anger causing Angel to shrink back from intimidation.

Taken aback from Vaggie’s assault, Angel straightens her and sternly reminds her. “We’ve gotta tighten together if we’re gonna crush this dick and stop him from ruining tha hotel.” Pulling her along with him as he crossed the car-clogged streets.

The moth demon sighs in compliance, softly apologizing before hurriedly asking “Wait was that a sex joke?” 

Angel quickened his pace, avoiding facing the glare Vaggie was using to bore through his back; still leading around the thin space between stopped cars.

They scrutinized each and every individual on the sidewalk; grey demon’s presence seemingly erased from the streets as if he were an elaborate lie. Disappearing wasn’t hard in Hell for a meticulous demon, through the bramble of the crowd and the red soaked cover of dark it was common for devils to completely expunge themselves from the mind of others. 

“He couldn't have gone that far, there’s no way he figured someone was tailing him.” Complained the moth demon, still scrounging around for the grey devil. Angel peeked through the doors of the establishments lining the streets, motives a mix of seeking the target and to indulge in a little bit of window shopping. 

Studying the contents behind a miscellaneous window, Angel was pleasantly surprised to both find that Boogs was in their vicinity and that Cain was also dining there. He once again pulled on Vaggie, drawing her into the entrance of the cafe.

“Angel wha-”

Angel Dust placed a finger over Vaggie’s mouth to hush her. “Shhh, Cain’s in Boog’s, he’s sittin’ by a window seat.” He reasoned, motioning one of his hands to point at Cain through the rosy-window. 

The two of them sauntered in, Angel pulling the fedora over his head down a bit to hide more of his face whilst putting on a pair of black-lensed glasses over his eyes. Looking over at the moth, surprised she wasn’t making any attempt to disguise herself. He leaned close to her, whispering in her ear with a cautious inflection “Vags, he’s gonna figure out we’re trailing him if he sees us.” 

The moth demon’s face contorted, expressing a mix of disgust and confusion at Angel’s remark. “Angel, you’re literally wearing the exact same fucking thing you wear all the time. Besides Cain is obviously going to know it’s us-it’d take a lot more than a stupid hat to hide us.” Vaggie contested, maintaining the silent volume of the whisper with a rough delivery.

The two of them settled into window seats behind Cain; Angel waving Boog over for a menu, Vaggie striking him in the arm. They couldn’t get a proper view of Cain, however they could make vague approximations of what he was doing through the imperfect reflection of the rose-tinted windows. 

There was something uniquely satisfying in this little game of cat and mouse, Angel discovered, even more so when Cain was the target. He was someone whose temperament was as contrary as night and day; and like the cycle of night and day it seemed like something out of their control. 

He observed the reflection of Cain fiddling with the food he was served, cautiously prodding at the contents of the plate with his cutlery. It was unbelievable that the same demon who killed Frankie and stared down the Radio Demon was fearfully putting a thin cut of meat in his mouth. Through the nebulous reflections he could see sharp, triangular teeth rip at the seared flesh, making attempts to hide his mouth as he chews with his free hand. He could see the grey demon finish the rest of his meal, leave with the plate cleaned and the table bare of any form of payment. 

Trailing the grey demon with a steadfast pace, maintaining a lengthy enough distance from him to avoid alerting him of their presence, whilst following close enough to prevent him from slipping invisible within the ambuntant crowd. There was an apparent increase to the rapidity of his feet; was this sudden urgency spurred to complete their objective? Rising trepidation? 

Perhaps Cain was aware of being trailed, and wished to lead them into a secluded area where he could fight unhindered and with the advantage of surprise; maybe he had demons that he’d fight with and surround them. 

The silent echo of his footsteps downtrodden by the cascading reverberberation of a thousand similar, but not perfectly exact noises. He drowned out the unnecessary, auditory filler; intoxicated on the subtle differences that deviated from the monotonous clamoring of the ever-stretching sea of identicality. 

Angel didn’t care if Cain had no ulterior motive. He didn’t care if he was a flickering candle struggling to hold steadfastly against the gale corruption of eternal damnation. He didn’t care if Cain’s retaliation was fierce and violent, more so than he could handle-if for anything he hoped for this.

To him, this was like any other pill he used to pop or needle he used to inject into his bloodstream. There was a disconnect between him and the stimulant, a separation was necessary for the substance abuser to truly achieve the zenith of their high. If this was the unmentioned rule for intoxication with any other narcotic

Of course Angel had noticed the grey devil stealing tentative glances, eyeing Angel’s body like he’d never seen anything like it. Being an adult actress of this caliber, Angel was well acquainted with the wanton ridden states-but never one of a pure interest. Those curious beads of gold with slitted black narrowing when they first met face to face; like Angel Dust was the only other demon in Hell. Pinpointing the purpose behind the goldenrod pupils was difficult, as Cain himself proved to be enigmatic in action and temperament. 

The devil in question suddenly veered to the left, turning into one of the poorly-lit alleyways signature to the slums. They heard the soft murmur of voices and the sharp click of a lighter, the faint glimmer of a freshly ignited flame flickered weakly in the void. Vaggie had stopped Angel from moving too close, as to not alert the grey demon of their presence, that by doing so they’d lose the opportunity to eavesdrop on what Cain was doing. 

Much to the duo’s dismay, their voices never elevated much beyond an indecipherable whisper. Soon the flickering fire of the lighter went out, along with it rang a thunderous noise followed with the sound of stone cracking. Several demons within earshot of the explosive noise turned their heads to the source, both Angel and Vaggie hurriedly made their way into the alley. There was a slight depression to the floor underneath them, uneven fractures in the pavement indicating that all of this wasn’t an intentional design choice. A humanoid silhouette remained leaning against the wall, Vaggie drawing her harpoon at the figure.

Free hand held out in surrender as a drawn out sigh escaped the lips of the person. “He’s long gone, it’s best you give him an hour or two ‘till he cools down a bit.” Croaked the obscured presence, hidden hands tossing the used cigarette to the side.

  
  


White hot anger clouded my mind and seared the inside of my body, an indescribable cacophony of anguish ripped at the neurons and wiring within my brain and destroyed reason. 

_ Kid, the slums are so quiet, cuz someone already took the whole thing with no contest. _

My legs pressed against the buildings adjacent to the slim interior of the sprawling alleys, rebounding off of the surfaces and onto the walls lining the opposite side. Movements identical to how he managed to leap up here, a thunderous lurching motion upwards.

_ That doesn’t make any sense-this place is fucking massive. _

The vertical footing I used caved in from the force, rubble raining down like bits of shrapnel threatened the miscellaneous wastes lining the streets.

_ Well, that’s cuz the person controllin’ the slums from now one’s a cat much bigger than Frankie-and a whole lot meaner. _

I bounded higher and higher as I leapt across the buildings, finally managing to reach the top floor of one of the buildings. 

_ If they were that strong, then why’ve I never heard of any of this happening? _

The baroque outcroppings of the Obsidian Rose were only faintly visible in the distance, the faint golden glow of it’s illustrious lighting smothered by the glare of the red Sun.

_ They’ve been underground for the most part, dealin’ premium goods from Earth-especially arms. _

Blood in my veins now fully replaced with a molten slurry of forgotten pains and emotions; peripherals blurring from narrowed focus, distant visage of the resort branding itself into the back of my head. Why would they be subjecting me to this again?

_ Their ringleader-Annette-is said to be strong enough to rip away at the resort itself within minutes-all without breaking a sweat. _

The wind transformed into a deadly sea of cool knives at this speed, pricking away at my skin and stabbing through to the center of my bones countered by the blistering sensation of muscle and tendons ripping and repairing over and over again. Crisp droplets of translucence streaked down the grey canvas, the sweat heightening the chill. 

_ So what? Am I just supposed to lay on my side like a defeated dog and let all of this go for nothing!? _

Bone fractured from the impact, fissures fusing together in an instant after. Legs pressed against the diagonal roof of a building, pushing against the uneven surface and feeling it give way seconds after surging from it. Illustrious glow nearer and nearer, blotting out more of the extraneous details of the outside world.

_ Might as well kid, you’d be askin’ for a lot of trouble goin’ against someone like her-not ta’ mention that she’s basically got an entire army behind her! _

Body tilted leg first in a diagonal fashion, I crashed into the fourth story window of a building too tall to scale quickly enough. Sounds of surprise and fear from the denizens inside dulled. Miscellaneous furnishings and objects collateral to my weight as I leapt through the apartment room; destroying the wall on the other side as I flung myself out of the abode. 

_ Listen, grey cat, you’ve gotta lotta of spunk in ya, but there’s no need to throw away your life like this! _

Weighty impact on the barren streets in front of the Obsidian Rose; sizable crater a noisy byproduct of my haphazard landing, drawing the ire of two gunmen standing guard by the stained glass doors.

_ I don’t need a lecture on what can and can’t be done by the person who got their ass handed to them a week ago; and I especially don’t need that packaged in a way where they pretend to give a fuck about my wellbeing! _

In a haze of red, the two guards dressed in olive green became a shower of gore and viscera that caked the entrance and I in a maroon stew. I scavenged the one rifle of theirs I didn’t break, stripping them of spare mags and such. 

With no hesitation shackling my limbs and psyche, the doors of the resort burst open by my hand. The strident clamor of lead and fallen casings perpetuated as the faceless guards’ verdant attire was painted crimson. The mound of noxious,dead flesh acted as a pathetic barricade at the base of the stairs-offering unneeded but valued cover. 

One by one, their numbers dwindled till all that remained standing upright on the first floor was I. Even with my perception obscured by my objective, sinking in the details of the gaudy resort interior came easily. The ashen halls lined with gold were decorated with heavily Renaissance era inspired paintings-most notably parodies of them with demons as the subject instead; aside from this and the vast increase in guards everything remained vastly unchanged.

A wild orchestra of an excruciating sensation ran rampant without the conductor of restraint . The stabbing, boring torment dotted across my lead-painted body proliferated as the seconds moved by. Violent strokes leaving a deep red trail dribbling down the freshly perforated orifices and over the tattered black clothing. What little protection and modesty the damaged shirt offered was circumvented by the sheer discomfort of the dirt and sweat caked fabric-not that it was in a particularly good state before I was getting shot. 

  
  
  


Scavenging fallen firearms and ammunition, there was something peculiar about the way they armed themselves. The bullets loaded in the guns were hollow-points, perfect for reducing the damage done to the surroundings and even better at lacerating the flesh around the wounds. They were fairly common to use as they were cheap to procure; however, the grunts had several backup magazines loaded with more expensive armor-piercing rounds. Armor piercing rounds were widely coveted in Hell, as their penetrative qualities ensured that they would perform optimally against cover and thick hides. It wasn’t as if switching magazines would interrupt their onslaught, as they regularly fired in controlled volleys to ensure that they could reload safely. Of course, hollow-points were considerably more destructive against me, but they wouldn’t know that from the get-go.

_ Would they? _

This was a pointless topic to debate about, there were a myriad of other reasons why hollow-points would be used primarily-with answers as simple as simply being too scared to fish for the mags. The longer I spent contemplating this the less time I had to capitalize on the advantage garnered by my unanticipated assault.

I peered up the wide staircase and made my way to the second floor, movements cautious and prepared, head swerving to prevent an ambush. The second was originally relegated to the cheaper hotel rooms of the establishment-still leagues above what was considered affordable for the average inhabitant of the slums-but modest when compared to the lavish suites housed in the upper floors. 

A dormant possibility still remained, that some soldiers laid in wait within the countless rooms dotting the labyrinthian halls-and ignoring them could leave him susceptible to a pincer attack. Continuous pace of the three hands of time gave no leeway for thoughtful reverie and maintaining the leverage of surprise, and the certainty of the latter was one I prioritized over the hypothetical posturing of the former. 

Of course, scaling the floors wasn’t a difficult feat, it was likely that the big shot resided at the highest point. That and I could’ve also taken the elevator, though once again doing so would defeat the purpose. All of this happened for a reason.

_ They’re making the tests harder. _

Yes, that had to be the case. It was likely that I simply cleared it out too easily the first time-and to be truly worthy of the accolades that I  _ will  _ eventually be bestowed with-I must offer a show of true struggle and heroics.

Ascending the staircases, the third floor was chock full of armed henchmen lying in wait for my assault. The structure of the third floor was similar to the second, with narrow hallways lined with rooms-restricting the total number of guards that could be firing at me. This layout was advantageous for me as it allowed me to mitigate the amount of damage I took and lessened the strain on my regeneration.

Expectedly the first group that saw me unleashed their volley of metal wind. Six guards managed to fire at me through the narrow hallway that only allowed two to stand side by side; circumvented by those standing in front to lay lower than the others. An unusual tactic that ordinarily would fare poorly against traditional assailants, as their rigid formation left them vulnerable to those weaving in and out of cover taking shots safely. Somehow they were not only made aware of my presence, but my approach to combat as well.

This was beyond the realm of expertise for common demon ruffians, they were trained, and they were trained  _ well _ .

I skirted around the stream of gunfire and crashed through the grey and gold walls, bursting out at close quarters and engaging the line in a melee. Their formation was sturdy, but was overall inflexible. Nonetheless it wasn’t a perfectly clean strategy, the walls offered a bruising resistance and a few of them managed to pelt me with a few hollow-points-still far more favorable than bearing the brunt of the blow. As I assumed, sounds of footsteps making their way up the stairs were heard from below me-likely armed gunmen attempting to leave me in a pincer attack. I made the incorrect choice earlier, and I had no intention of suffering the consequences.

Diving through and from the walls of the rooms lining the hallways, I made myself across to the staircases-several guards awaiting me at the base of the stairs. Through an amateurish combination of unloading my rifles magazine and unarmed strikes, dressing the somber furnishing and stairs with a mixed slurry of miscellaneous blood and gore.

The fourth floor was identical in structure to the latter two floors, I utilized the same tactic against an increased concentration of guards. The most noticeable difference I saw was that one of the gunmen wore a blue suit jacket instead of the olive green I was accustomed to, alongside covering their face with a white mask streaked with thin gold lines covered by a flowing navy blue cloak.

They fought defensively and danced around my attempts of retaliation; above all of this they showed extreme tactical prowess-stay closing to me when I attempted to flee and quickly retreating when I went on the offensive. They possessed the ability to ‘steal’ what I had on my person, stripping me of my armaments and leaving me without any ranged options. Through all of their dextrous trickery, they had managed to slow me down considerably, enough to allow the group from the second floor to finally catch up with me. 

The supposed elite bounced off of one of the walls and landed a good ten feet away from me. “Allow me to congratulate you gray man on duty of wiping out below floors-but you will not make it further~” Mewled the masked demon, twirling their twin handguns around their index finger in a goading way; voice oozing Slavic undertones with it’s imperfect consonants missing and sharp delivery. Their humanoid frame was an entire foot shorter than mine-and likely a foot slimmer as well. 

The noticeable sound of loaded rifles being readied and the adjacent clicking of the safety rang in my head like the incessant bells of death tolling my imminent demise. Breaking through would at the very least take out most of my vitality, and considering the trend displayed, it was likely that I’d face tougher customers in the later floors. “What’s the matter? Fox got your tongue?” I did nothing in response to his words, nothing but scan the surrounding area and do my best to work with the limited seconds.

“I expect more from same  _ kurat  _ who killed the original owner of this place.” Malice making itself more apparent in the elite’s accented voice, still I remained silent-I needed the restraint I had forlorn moments before if I were to defeat this foe. Leaping through the walls would leave me in a situation where I would be susceptible to an assault, going for the guards in the back would cripple me and leave my remaining regeneration in shambles. I had one option remaining.

I felt my legs in my mind, the iron-like strands of muscle buried deep within my tautly wrapped skin that covered hard but brittle bone; the neurons inches away sung somber tunes of ache in response to what I was about to do. The seconds counting down to a minute became fractions of itself, I lunged down and rocketed myself towards the demon-tearing the interior of my calves into a messy slop of flesh and bone. Hurriedly my hands moved in a readied position with the same frightening speed and ferocity, body twisting and tearing my insides as I delivered a thundering strike to the elite’s masked face-feeling the porcelain crack under my now broken fist-fist dressed in crimson. Though I didn’t feel my fist drive through their skull or break anything, likely due to the poor formation I had when punching them-nonetheless I didn’t have time to finish the job.

With succinct movements the soldiers to the back began their metal tango, a ballad of oncoming death awaited me if I didn’t move myself out of the way. I dropped hands first to the floor, muscle contracting with the bending of my arms as I then pushed myself off of the ground. Floor cracking from the force, I flung myself straight upwards and into the next level through the ceiling. In one last act of strength I shifted my weight so as to not fall back down and leave all my efforts for naught. I scanned my head around to see if I was in any immediate danger, pleased when I had finally found a moment of respite-however, the guards below weren’t as complacent as I hoped. With the audible clicking of changed magazines they began firing upwards-now using the armor piercing rounds they had on them.

I heavily lamented coming here, but something didn’t sit right with me over leaving-that and a plunge from this height could prove definitively fatal now.The few seconds I had was enough to grant me the bare minimum of thin bones and sparse strands of muscle that allowed movement, the gruesome lack of skin hidden by my mostly tattered garments. My freshly regenerated legs were numb and lethargic, moving through unrestrictive aie like it was a concrete slurry. I didn’t usually count myself lucky, but considering how so few rounds managed to hit me, I suppose it would be foolish to consider not-at least for this instance. The rooms were a lot sparser on the fifth floor, with wider hallways and a lighter-more baroque decor relative to the already lavish lower floors; this layout was a little more disadvantageous compared to the lower floors, but nonetheless I couldn’t simply quit now and them chase after me.The onslaught of hell raining from below continued as my speed began picking up, smattering stray rounds grazing my fresh skin doing little to slow my movements-until it just stopped. 

I chalked up their attacks ceasing to a mix of not wanting to waste ammo and to pursue me to the upper floors, but it was what laid ahead of me that convinced me otherwise. Three masked assailants, two in blue coats and one in a black vest, though they all lacked the shawl the other had in favor of other miscellaneous accessories-and akin to the ‘elite’ from before, they had weapons deviating from the automatic rifles used by their green clad peers. The lanky, tailed one with the long scoped rifle lowered their body and seemingly went invisible, while the larger goon closed the distance with their combat shotgun at a breakneck pace. Fighting all three proved difficult enough, but the nagging thought of the pincer group returning clouded my mind and focus. The sniper silently erased themselves from the world and took crippling shots at my ankles or wrists while the heavy-set bruiser seemed to take most of my attacks and the one with the twin blades cut and burned me when I did so. Their attacks were dangerously synchronized, offering seemingly no chinks in their defense considering the one before stole my guns. Once again, to achieve victory I needed to be decisive and abandon restraint to succeed.

I hardened my footwork and twisted my body, my blurred fist crashing straight into the torso of the larger demon, their discombobulated person sent flying into the walls behind them. My right hand became a loose string of ragged, grey skin and foul smelling remnants of my arm. My body moved, capitalizing on the surprised melee fighter and attempting to smash them with my other hand-only to be stopped short by the sniper blasting my wrist away during the motion-reducing the impact to a powerful-but indecisive-blow. I wouldn’t get another chance like this against them, so I lunged forward, back facing forward to bear the brunt of the blades and smashing the swordsman with my face. They fell limp to the ground as if consciousness oozed out of them like the sanguine spilling from their forehead. My dizzied head left me vulnerable for a few crucial seconds, leaving my left ankle shot. I hobbled around, moving as erratically as I could to throw off their aim, closing the distance to where I remembered they were and striking at nothing but empty air. 

_ They’ve moved. _

Yes, throughout the chaos they must’ve repositioned themself to prevent me from striking at them. Another shot rang out, through my blinding focus I seemed to have ignored how the boisterous roaring of the rifle as it fired-a clear flaw that undermined their camouflage. My body followed the noise and struck once again at empty air-though not fully for naught. In their desperation, they’ve released their stealth when they dodged-leaving them vulnerable to my assault. 

Within minutes I was fully healed, once again armed with firearms scavenged from the fallen guards. I found it a little surprising the pincer group was yet to find me, and I doubt that they’d simply sit idly. There was something both humorous and anxiety inducing about how frequently the roles of hunter and hunted altered between the guards and I. Though, strangely enough-the sniper had several instances where they could’ve taken a kill shot at my head or heart-but rather focused on crippling me.

_ Perhaps they intended to take me alive for interrogation or torture, it would be a smart play to question the thing that just wiped out several dozen of your mercenaries. _

This did little to dissuade me however, I’d already made my way up more than halfway and quitting now would both leave me nauseous and with a white hot target branding my back. Blood once again boiling-not out of a sense of trepidation or unspeakable rage mind you-but one of roaring determination, the drive to expunge the demons of this hotel and soon entirely quelling any and all embers of inhibition or caution. 

Running through the familiar halls of the fifth floor I once again found guards at the base of the stairs going upwards, partially composed of the blue-suited elites and the pincer group. As they began opening fire, I plummeted upwards through the next floor, expectedly switching to armor piercing rounds while the clamor of footsteps implying a few were making their way to the next floor as well. However I didn’t intend to leave this job incomplete, swiftly moving so that when I plummeted downwards I’d be directly onto whoever was still guarding the stairs. A raging tempest of olive green and red was all that influenced my senses, the thirty-strong group from the second floor now decorated the monochromatic sea of the Obsidian Rose’s interior.

The seven blue-clad elites were little but fodder since they found themselves in an unsavory situation around the stoars, with little room and time to get into a position suited for them, they joined the ranks of the grunts below. The sixth floor followed a similar pattern as the floor before it, once again leaving him disadvantaged in a more open space. He continued to move at a breakneck speed, surprising groups of elite guards and finishing the fight before they had ample time to react. Within minutes the sixth floor was scaled, any stains of demon filth in my path became stains over the walls and floor. 

When I entered the seventh room it felt as if I were in a different building-no-a different existence.

Jet black walls with thousands of tiny flecks of white and nebular clouds of purple detailing the walls, and most unorthodoxly was how those speckles seemed to swim along the black lagoon of the night-inspired walls. Though to say I was entranced would be an understatement, the beguiling beauty of this false night sky almost led to me losing an arm. A towering, sallow demon dressed in black attire matching the rest only with a vest instead of the jacket swung a heavy blade all too close to me. The white, porcelain mask reflecting the soft light from the lying stars seemed to glow eerily, while the ebony attire reflected naught, giving the illusion of the mask being detached from any sort of body. The onyx blade it swung was chipped and jagged; a cruel sword befitting of the manic, haphazard way it was swung at me.

Wind whistling as they swung their black iron blade at nothing; I stepped to the side and hooked them, doing little but garnering a guttural scream in return. Behind the eye holes of the faintly illuminated mask burned silver beads with an intensity far surpassing the stars illuminating the walls. The white dots moved with a pious ferocity, the air sharply cut by their flamberge was drowned out by the low moaning seeping from their covered maw. Once again I struck them, the pliant flesh that once gave way now hard like bricks.

No,  _ harder,  _ I’ve broken through brick before-and quite easily. 

They swung their sword upwards and amputated my left arm cleanly from the shoulder, violent drunken movements aroused by a stupor not caused by alcohol. I could do little more but scream as the cold blade severed my limb from me, saline droplets clouding my vision while the caustic pain roared from my missing hand through my mouth. I’ve been shot and stabbed at, had my head flattened and bludgeoning but nothing ached more than  _ this.  _

I mused to myself as I felt myself curling over slightly, how utterly  _ romantic  _ it was to fall on my quest, bathed in my blood under this false heaven in hell. The seconds of life narrowed, though they seemed to drag on for hours as this executioner staggered backwards and raised their heavy blade above their head-all the better to cleanly lop mine off. 

But something inexplicable within me refused to give in, defying whatever this creature willed. My cold defeated blood rang molten once more and I roared in an act of defiance-tackling the monster before me to the floor. I wailed my heavy, single fist across their face, frenzied blows mirroring their swings as for the first time I truly felt as if I were fighting for my life. Through my tear-blurred version I saw their black become red and the white beneath the mask dim; most notably was how little they resisted, squirming slightly and doing little to reach for their dropped blade. 

The minutes I spent caving their skull in were stolen from my skewed, delirious perception and felt like seconds-instances of ardent brutality I excused as a requirement for survival. The cut still ached terribly, as if hundreds of fish hooks were embedded into my flesh, tentatively tugged as to cause the maximum pain without ripping themselves out and sparing me further torture. Though the wound felt cold, so terribly cold, I shivered as I still lay on their corpse-face decimated into a million splinters of bone and brain-defying the molten blood I feared would soon evaporate from me from it’s overwhelming heat. 

Ironically, this was the most serene I was-or atleast remember being. Stolen moments of rest, waiting for my arm to regenerate. I eyed the black blade, an ephemeral chill gripping my mind and putting it at odds with itself over scavenging it. Though the contest wasn’t violent or disruptive, it was orderly-once again ironic as the debate was over the rationale of improved survivability to the superstitious fear of what anomalous properties it  _ could  _ host. 

_ Then again, fighting for divine glory is as superstitious as it could get. _

Regeneration of my left arm was slow, over the course of what I assumed to be four minutes all that was regenerated was a limp sack of skin and sparse strands of muscle. This was unprecedentedly slow, surpassing the lackadaisical rate of malnourishment’s effects or for unnecessary aspects like hair or nails. While the notion that the blade had supernatural properties wasn’t out of the question, I’m still mostly clueless as to the machinations of my ability. 

Dawdling any longer increased the likelihood of being ambushed by another combatant, and likely one around the same caliber as the last. I pushed myself off of the corpse, caught off guard that I was still hovering over them. Quelling the irrationality of my fear, I gripped the ragged leather-covered handle, taken aback when nothing actually happened after I did so. 

I continued across the starry hallway, barely aware of the progress I made as the layout was altered and now completely alien to me. When I encountered more guards, I literally fended them off single-handedly-pleasantly surprised with how pitiful the resistance they offered was. Despite my maladroitness with the sword, I sustained only minor injuries from the few encounters-even from the grouped enemies. 

My left arm was still a useless sack of flesh, though the arm was filled out a bit with muscle and bone finally began to form. Though the fear that plagued my mind earlier still lingered, albeit within the darker recesses of my consciousness. I wasn’t outright drenched in paranoia and ferality, in fact it inversely curbed my lack of restraint and caused me to approach the floors with a greater air of caution. 

I noticed a pattern in the layout of the floors overall once I reached the eight floor, heavily resembling the floor I just came out of. Though unexpectedly, it had little to no security-even behind the handful of doors. It was clear that they were all likely to be situated upstairs within the presence of the ‘boss’ or perhaps this and the next floor were barren as they escaped. Still, to fully achieve my goals I needed this place cleaned out and the slums to be left to its own devices-and that meant pushing through. 

“You’ve made quite a mess, haven’t you?” Voice from behind startling me, causing me to jolt around in response. Their appearance had to be an illusion or elaborate lie-something wrested from deep within the subconscious to rouse nostalgia. I couldn’t pin their familiar visage-but their human appearance was as out of place as the majestic depiction of the heavens that surrounded them. 

Long fingers pushing black hair to the side of their tanned face, it wasn’t until they opened their mouth to continue speaking that I saw their overly sharp teeth-like a row of ivory daggers awaiting flesh An array of white gems rested over her head, as if they were braided into her hair, jewelry lining a few of her canines. “I’d wager to guess you’ve killed about sixty to seventy guards, that’s a lot of needless slaughter. Though look at you, minus the lack of shirt and tattered pants, you’re  _ spotless _ .” A slight, toothy smile forming on her face, revealing the unnerving array of canines behind her lips. 

I was yet to respond, still scrying her person-half part assessing any weaknesses and half part mesmerized by her apparent humanity. With motions as subtle as I can make them, I shifted the weight in my footwork, attempting to position myself at the ideal angle to lung at them. Suddenly, the floor underneath my heels molded itself around my foot, and just as I was about to jerk them out, the walls and floors ripped towards me-acting as a makeshift containment. 

The wom- _ demon  _ stepped closer to me, her unfunctional strut exuded a pristine display of poise. I increased the resistance I offered against my shackles, only to have more force applied in retaliation. 

It wasn’t fear that gripped me as she neared, but  _ intimidation _ . A subtle distinction, where the difference lies in the acknowledgement of superiority. Stopping before my prison, she gripped my chin with her fingers and glared into me with slitted eyes-pupils thinning.

Tilting my head up slightly, she exhorted “I expect you to pay for the damages, correct?” A cold and sharp inflection, reminiscent of the biting winter frost I vaguely recall. Eventually I succumbed under the oppressive force, lessening the resistance I was offering; though shortly after the pressure applied lessened, and that same toothy smile curled up on her face once more. “I know you won’t be able to pay for all of the damage you’ve caused, but I think you’ll make a good replacement for the missing soldiers in the meantime.” Bargained the demon, flashing more of her pressurizing teeth in a wide smile.

Instinctively I jolted my head towards her, the surroundings that she tore asunder coiled around me even harder, grasping every part of my person save for the front of my face. Mere inches from her human expression, I could see lonesome beads of sweat dripping from her forehead as she moved the facetious celestial mural to bind me-perhaps evident of a lack of stamina using her ability? If that were the case, I simply needed to bide time until her timer on the ability ran dry. 

The human demon chuckled lightly, a free hand covering her mouth as she did so while the other wiped away at the sweat. “There isn’t a need for any aggression, all that will garner you is crushed bones and spilled blood.” I found myself taken aback with her casual tone, especially given that she just threatened me. Through a crack voice and strained lungs I responded coarsely. “F-fantastic plan really, but what’s to stop me from leaving as soon as I can-or simply from me killing you once these binds are released?”

She turned around, walking away from me a good few feet before stopping. Still facing away from me, she outstretched her forearm slightly, a chunk of the starry sky ripped from the cosmos and floating towards her, sharpening itself as it moved. “What’s stopping you from leaving? Well for the most part we have similar goals, you want the big dogs of hell dead, just as I do-only I want it for business and you want it for some stupid moral bullshit.” Turning around and facing me, the freshly forged needle rocketing towards me-stopping  fingerbreadths away from the center of my face. “Oh, and that’s stopping you from just killing me, I’m just a lot fucking stronger than you~” End of the sentence trailed in a sing-songy tone as the projectile hovered right in front of me-seconds away from skewering my skull and burning my memories away. 

Too focused on the needle’s proximity, I ignored how close she’d gotten to me, just as-no closer than the needle was. “Do we have a deal?” She whispered, warm breath tickling the side of my face, fearing how close her monstrous teeth were to my person. They lingered there as I spent seconds pondering my decision, eyes blankly tracing around the ravaged depiction of Earth’s night while my mind was really absorbed over swearing fealty to a demon. A  _ very  _ human demon, with an apparent wistfulness for their past life-apparent from their parodied paintings and the night sky, but a demon nonetheless. 

Eyes closing and vision darkening, I finally responded with a silent ‘yes’. The heavy sound of something falling resonated through the empty chambers muffled the quiet shuffling, presumably the demon making her way away from me. Sight returning to the dim heavens and the demon basking underneath the starlight, I sighed and pleaded for them to loosen their hold on my person, a bemused chuckle quickly followed with a snap of their fingers. With a guttural creak, the broken floor and walls roared as they reverted to their original state; this would’ve been a perfect restoration if it wasn’t for the almost invisible cracks, causing the drifting stars to blip in and out as they swam across the cracks. 

They walked with me, leading me from the seventh floor to the ninth by stairs, confirming my suspicions that the elevator was cut shortly after my entrance. The ninth floor was mostly the same, a mostly windowed set of walls which offered an admittedly breathtaking view of Hell. The room was open with no walls lining the interior, a massive expanse of glass panes and rows of marble pillars inches away from the glass, only on opposite ends. The simple, modernity of the room clashed with the previous floors, almost humorous how it seemed like the rooms seemed to be leading up to majesties grander than the last, even touching the grace of heaven-only to culminate into what a boardroom of a megacorporation would look like. Though the spacious room was alone-save for the two of us-with the nearest guard posted as the base of the stairs leading up. 

The demon referred to herself as Annette, stamping out the doubts I had over her being the head of this place, and fittingly, as the former-enforcer said-she seemed more powerful than I was. They sat behind their hardwood desk and offered me a seat opposite to them, I initially wanted to deny it-though my screaming calves and thighs convinced me to answer otherwise. She answered questions with an air of nobility, as if her being in command wasn’t because she had the power or influence to do so-it seemed almost as if she was  _ born  _ for it-though she confirmed she wasn’t demon royalty, but a sinner like I was. Annette told me how she died about four years ago, and how she worked tirelessly to build her own empire up-unusually she asked me if her first statement rang any bells, I simply said now and shrugged it off. Over the course of what felt like fifteen minutes it felt like I was talking to an old friend, with an unorthodox air of familiarity and comfort between two people who were on opposing ends minutes ago. Of course, I never dropped my apprehensiveness and stuck near her, for it was when I was close that I held the smallest disadvantage. They regaled me over their struggles and their ideals, stating how they wanted to live freely and comfortably-and wanted to ensure the bare minimum to maintain this ‘luxury’. 

I found calling stability a luxury to be a stretch, even the cruel landscape of Hell seemed to have some sense of order amongst it-though I never let this bother me as I found myself engrossed in their words. They spoke crudely and sailor-like, which defied their expressed dignity. She told me she wanted power not to rule or suppress but to have an amicable life, as peaceful of a life an influential arms dealer may have. Most importantly to me, she told me that she would arm me and offer intelligence for my “own endeavors” so long as I remained loyal to her and did as she ordered. Noticing the doubt painted across my face, she affirmed that our goals were mostly aligned and that she would offer me a freedom she didn’t offer her other employees-the choice to leave. Of course I would have to “pay my debts off”, though what constituted an appropriate payment was never answered. She said that alongside working for her, she would pay me accordingly while also arming me. It wasn’t as if I could back out now, but she still persisted in convincing me that this was a venture I would revel in-perhaps to greater seal my position here? 

She freely let me ask her as many questions as I so desired, and answered them with what I believed to be honest-finding no flaws in her direct inflection. Of course, I’d expected to be equally interrogated, with the topics ranging from what my ability was to why exactly I raided their base. Though I was colored surprised when they only asked me one, and even more peculiarly was what they asked.

“So, how exactly do you spell your name?”

I glanced at her, she seemed so separated from the rest of Hell, nine stories higher on a desolate floor with her dejected appearance; but I knew this was all a farce, for she displayed a cruel, toying expression, one likely birthed from her power-corrupted mind that sought self satisfaction at no cost. I too felt myself estranged to those who walk under the red Sun, but there was something so common about her question-as if she weren’t a warlord and I weren’t an undying mass of flesh.

Bathed in the silence, I found myself relishing in the seeming calm before I spelled my name out. In response to my answer, she looked down and sighed before continuing her incessant praises of her regime. I may not have felt any kinship with the wretched abominations of hell, but this demon had a way of easing her way into my mind.

I found myself lost with her, indescribably familiarity over this vague and fuzzy image. An image blurred by the memories curelly wrested from my injured mind, and an image echoing a deeper melancholy than one I’m subjected to now. 

Visions of heroics blurring and melding with them, I succinctly shook off the looming trepidation roused by the fear of losing that which was a constant. Yes, it was foolish to fall into this siren’s song of deceit.

Falling into her lying visage of false humanity, I accepted the terms of her proposed conditions. Annette clapped her hands together, her mostly neutral temperament shifting to elation. “Splendid-we can start tomorrow! Though… there’s one thing you have to do to prove your loyalty…” 

  
  
  


Cain could never find himself used to the chill breeze of hell, always concluding how immensely strange that the home of ardent brimstone and perpetually raging infernos could sport winds that shook you to your bones. Even through the thick, black turtleneck Annette had given to cover his bare torso, he found himself shivering. 

He passively thumbed the hammer of Frankie’s revolver, head tilted downwards, showing an unusual fascination with the monochromatic sidewalk. He waded through the tumultuous crowds, basked in the adulterated glow of the bloodied Sun and the multitude of stores vying for the attention of the thralls. Cain swerved through the throng of demons, eyes occasionally raising themselves from the ground to scan the buildings to his left, looking for the cozy cafe that once caught his attention and drew him in. Once his eyes spotted the familiar rose windows, his footsteps slowed as he neared towards the door, stopping before the entrance-fingers fiddling with the revolver at a heightened rate-slowly lifting his head. 

The store was mostly empty, he couldn’t help thinking how he’d so soon undermined his actions a week ago. Cain stopped before the counter, eyes overly engrossed in the granite embellishment of the countertop before his focus was broken by Boog’s voice. “Oh, you have come back here, come come-I have more food to give you!” Exclaimed the store owner, flashing a toothy smile that showed off her pearly whites. 

Cain hadn’t paid much mind to her appearance in his less lucid state, but given the recent demoness he met-he found Boog to be almost the antithesis of her. Her body and face was covered in tufts of charcoal hued feathers with grey streaks, as if the hands of time still had their way in hell. She had seven eyes all with sharp slitted pupils and knife-like teeth that gave the impression they could tear through plates of metal with one bite. All of this however, was undermined by her presentation and demeanor, Boog exuded a humble and cautious mannerism that defied her heavyset fram and dressed in long flowing dresses. This sharply contrasted with the human appearance of Annette and her uncaring, gluttonous state of being. 

He couldn’t fathom why now, out of all times he would be sinking in how she looked.

_ It wasn’t as if she mattered much to the plan anyways. _

Right hand rising slowly-not slow out of intent-but slow as it was encumbered, encumbered by a conflicted mind still fervently fighting over the action to take. Heavy revolver raised to her head, he held it there-as if lifting the gun itself had taken everything out of him and left him stiff from rigor mortis. Of course the seconds that the gun lingered in the air felt like hours tentatively scraping by, until Boog ripped the gun from his loose grip. 

Boog glanced at the hand cannon like it was the mold that stained good bread and dropped it to the floor, her euphoria traded for worry. She offered him a slight smile, before telling him to wait a few moments as she fished something from the back of the store. Cain stood there, hand still frozen in place, his position unadulterated by the loss of his revolver and mind unadulterated by the soft footsteps nearing him. Within a fraction of a second, he felt force at the back of his knee, instantly causing his poise to falter, and within a second palms gripped the back of his head and slammed it downwards. 

He felt his nose break from the pack with the counter and blood drip from his nostrils, he would’ve fallen over if it wasn’t for his head still being pushed against the granite he was so engrossed in moments ago. His hands binded by others’ he couldn’t make any attempts of retaliation after they broke his other leg from behind. Though, what caught him off guard the most-even more than the sudden assault-was the voice that resounded from behind him. 

“You’ve sure got some balls to just pull up ta somebody’s joint and not expect any retaliation.” Arrogantly affirmed the spider demon, the sultry disposition melding with his distinctive accent giving away his identity. 

Only able to muster a few defiant groans as a response, he was warranted more pressure applied to his head. “I knew you were fucking bad news the moment Angel brought you through the doors, you piece of shit.” The not-so-familiar voice of the moth demon fumed, his head raised after and slammed down. Cain found his mind hazy and murky to traverse, the back and forth of voices behind him melded together and became an indecipherable mess of animosity and humor. 

He was familiar with this feeling, yes, though he couldn’t quite place how or why. He remembered vividly the moments where he served as his city’s valiant guardian! Clad in a steel grey and silver outfit, fighting tooth and nail with tactics others may have considered “less than honorable” but nonetheless he knew he didn’t cross the lines he shouldn’t have. Doubtless of his past heroics, he couldn’t shake off the familiarity of being the target of these emotions than stung like salt to a festering wound.

Cain felt something stain the edges of his eyes, he feared if it was blood and feared the alternative even more. His already muddled vision reduced to a blurry slosh of greys and blacks of the counter, the pungent stink of iron and nickel stained the insides of his screaming nostrils all while a sharp ringing sound not only persisted-but proliferated-as time dragged on. He coughed, unaware of what liquid he dredged up from his throat, but he still felt as if he was choking on something and continued to hack and heave. 

Once more his head was raised and smashed against the counter, the murky gray and black of the became uniform.

He couldn’t remember what was going on, he was here-but where was here? The potential list of imperative objectives grew and grew until he could no longer comprehend the boundless list of things he must achieve. Everything blurred together to black-to nothing. He was here to do something, yes he knew that, but what? All he could see was black, all he could  _ hear  _ was black and all he could smell was… blood?

There was something that has hurt him, something that has made itself his priority. Yes he could see clearly, clearly through the black that there lay hate, and with that hate stared back with its profane eyes-cloudy white things that shimmered so replesedantly amidst the void it slept in. Yes he was here with the profane-the same profane blackening his weight and bloodying his nostrils-the same profane he vowed to end. He had to, for reasons unspecific and homogenized as the black he found himself in, but those reasons burned like the diamond-like eyes. That is why he was a demon-to kill the white eyed beast he too must become white eyed.

Cain roared, a guttural and bestial noise that unnerved those pinning him down and everyone else within earshot. He felt disjointed bone and cartilage reform and mend as the gnashes on his head closed together. The invisible weight acting against his movements reversed, body unburdened and light, it was easy to shrug off the assailants behind him. Fully prepared to tear his assailants to shreds, he was succinctly stopped from a soft, strained voice dripping worry with it’s melancholic inflection. “There is no need for this, no need to hurt him. He is an employee of mine who was just playing a joke-admittedly one that should be done behind closed doors…” Boog hurriedly defended, words and phrases scattered and repeated in a fervent desperation, likely to diffuse the situation and lessen the potential bloodshed-only to be met with raised eyebrows and apparent confusion from the three of them.

Angel Dust backed a few feet away from Cain, hands raised in surrender all while his gaze bounced between the grey demon and Boog before questioning the latter. “What kinda joke is it to pull a rod out at ya boss-Especially seein’ that the piece in question was Frankie’s?” The restaurateur simply chuckled, chiding in shortly after her display of amusement. “This young man here’s a bit of a troublemaker yes, but ultimately this is something between employer and employee-yes? I do have to thank you for caring for an old woman like me-but please do not beat on him like that.” 

Cain found himself bemused, due in part to the chopped up delivery of the woman and how earnestly she sought to defend him-to the extent of elaborating a forged story. The grey demon’s legs shook a little as he strained himself upwards, towering over the moth demon-though still a good foot shorter than Angel Dust. Nonetheless the two belligerents found themselves imposed upon by him, intimidated by the fragility of his exterior that looks as if in any second it would give way and something incessantly barbaric would be released. 

The grey demon continued to glare at the two of them, strangely avoiding eye contact-noticeable in how his eyes would avoid theirs’ and focus on something nearby. “You’ve heard her, back off now before you worsen the Hotel’s image  _ anymore _ .” Caustic words biting at the two of them, digging especially deep into Vaggie. She felt her insides strain themselves trying to resist lunging at him, though her restraint was made all the easier seeing how he almost  _ wanted  _ them to come at him now. 

Boog quickly reminded the three of them that she still needed to fish something out of the back, half-kidding when she joked about how they shouldn’t kill each other by the time she was back. As soon as she was out of earshot, Cain’s hands ripped forwards for both Angel Dust and Vaggie’s slender necks, pushing them to the floor. Amidst the strained breathing and fruitless struggles, Vaggie glared daggers at the grey demon all whilst Angel smirked. 

“The two of you have a lot of nerve trying to take me on, what’s the boss lady gonna say about you two harassing the newest guest, huh?” Scowled the grey devil, his intense glare directed at Angel Dust doing little to unnerve the spider. Wriggling lightly underneath Cain’s iron clasp, Angel Dust coughed lightly before cheekily replying. “Geez lighten up you limp sack of shit, you didn’t need ta go through all this bullshit if you just wanted to pin me down~” All while Vaggie strained to retort “Cut the crap, we know you’ve killed Frankie-you’re probably planning some shit with the Hotel.”

Infuriated and revulsed by their comments and (rightful) suspicion, the grey demon doubled down on the pressure he applied to Angel’s delicate larynx, feeling it pulsate underneath his crushing grip. Cain leaned in near to the side of Angel’s head, not loosening his hold on either demons as he whispered straightly to the adult actor. “Originally I thought you became Valentino’s top whore because of your personality, now I’m certain that he either pitied you or found it funny making you his poster child.” Lifting himself from near the spider, he continued his tirade, focus now directed to Vaggie. “And you, I sort of forgot you even existed with how little you did-atleast this stain of white and pink doesn’t ever shut his fucking mouth. Why don’t the two of you scamper along before I  _ really  _ show the two of you how to beat someone into submission.” Cain’s words were unsullied by any flaws in the delivery, the cold and straight vibrato dripped rancour, enough to put the two of them off.

Prying his hands from their throats, they hacked and coughed as they gripped their bruised neck. It didn’t take long to overcome the gripping torment roused by the sore marks, hurriedly scampering to their feet and leaving with uncharacteristic dejectedness. Cain himself stood fully up, wiping spotless palms he believed tained over the tattered jeans he pried from a demon’s corpse weeks ago; stopping when the footsteps echoing behind him grew closer and closer.

The grey demon turned his head towards the approaching person, eyes met with a Boog holding a large folded white cut of fabric. Unraveling the cloth, she revealed it to be an apron, one not dissimilar to hers save for the absence of any stains. The restaurateur handed me the pristine draping, watching me scrutinize the apron as if it could be a troublesome prank or trap. “You know I wasn’t joking when I called you an employee?” Her thick, honeysuckle articulation felt hard to wade through, Cain’s understanding of what she said came slowly, and when it did he struggled.

The grey demon scowled, taken aback by once again finding himself as an employee of  _ another  _ demon woman. She offered Cain an amicable smile, void of teeth and displaying her wrinkles. 

Unwilling to prolong this, Cain wore the apron and followed her to the back at her behest, noting how she giggled as he struggled to wear the covering. The kitchen was as he remembered it, a multitude of cooking utensils and ingredients neatly arranged as if it were a model kitchen in a department store. There was a simple awe to Boog’s organization, clearly there was a meticulousness to her that exceeded common sense. 

She ripped him out of my mesmerization, laying out more ingredients from the large refrigerator before pulling me towards the counter where everything laid. With great caution and patience, she showed him the ropes of her kitchen alongside a cake recipe. Boog had me making flour and showing me the unconventional flora of Hell that she was using for the icing and topping. We both found it strange how easily the whole process came to me, Boog exclaimed about how he was a natural about this and jokingly asked if he were a baker on Earth.

I stopped what I was doing, fazed by the bluntness of her half-serious question. I looked down to Boog and responded. “I doubt it, I… I can’t remember much-but I don’t think I’d have a lot of time for baking given what I used to do.” She didn’t persist any further, leaving that question as that-likely sensing it may have been a sensitive subject to traverse around. 

They continued baking until we made a total of four fluffy white cakes dressed in a light pink frosting. Cain found himself rather engrossed in the two cakes he made himself, despite their crude frosting. When the feathered demon told him he could keep both, he found himself incredibly elated-to the point where he even agreed to help her with more preparation tomorrow as well. 

Cain stripped the apron off of his person and left the establishment with the intent to return to Annette; however, a few raps on his shoulder and his focus had shifted. It was the first masked demon he fought, he could tell from their short stature, identical cowl and the porcelain mask with cracks running within it-cracks caused by him.

With his thick, eastern European accent, the elite begrudgingly relayed. “You come with me to Awhnutte, She tell me to pick you up.” There was an evident straining in his voice as he motioned his hands towards a parked car. It was a cozy, black sedan-typically a rather discreet car-but in Hell it’s presence was very unorthodox. 

Opening the door and gesticulating for me to sit first, Cain complied, a little too tired to argue and if things were going to go bad, he could always smash his mask in some more. Shuffling over and onto the red leather seats he saw the masked elite sit in with him as well, a puddle of purple sludge sitting in the driver’s seat. He took note of the slime,it was a grotesque thing, filling up the entirety of the front row with it’s formidable size. Through it’s translucent frame he could make out a sphere lodged deep within it, and atop of it’s lavender scented form sat a gas mask and red beret. He noted the similarities between the eye insignia over the beret and the patch of the cloaked demon, finally connecting that this was something that all of Annette’s guards shared. He found himself proud for noticing something a child would’ve, admittedly though he did have more pressing matters to deal with at the time than the dress sense of the people he was killing. 

Cain could sense the atmosphere between them being thick enough to cut a slice from with a knife, the former likely glaring at him through the eyeholes of the mask.

“I’ve noticed this before, but it seemed as if the cars in Hell lack seatbelts.” Cain commented after fishing around for one, setting the boxes of cakes on the seat between them. The masked demon tilted their head in response. “Seat belt? For what reason would you need to fasten your pants only on seat?” Came out slightly muffled as everything else he said was, muffled and in choppy English. Sighing and dropping the subject, Cain looked out of the window, seeing the chaotic and repetitive backdrop of the slums blur and eventually disappear behind him, replaced with derelict buildings and the towering ‘Obsidian Rose’. 

Escorted out of the car, he was led by the masked demon inside. Cain found himself surprised when they used the elevator, surprised at how it was fixed so suddenly and the fact that demons who fixed elevators even existed in Hell. Soon he found himself at the eight floor, those starry walls once again attracting his attention as he was led through them to the ninth floor. He saw the cowled demon stop at the base of the stairs alongside two black-vest clad guards. “Da boss lady want to see you alone, so go up.” Shooing the grey demon away, expression still invisible even through the cracks caused by him.

A desolate, empty scape of polished marble and glass panes with nothing decorating the barren floor save for the light furnishings of Annette’s desk and chairs alongside Annette herself. Cain neared closer and closer to her, the plastic bag in his grasp swaying gently like a pendulum on throes of cessation; Annette’s posture nor her expression changed as the distance between them closed. Seating himself at the behest of Annette’s motions, he set the bag down over the mahogany desk. 

The mob boss glanced at the package, then back at Cain. “What exactly did you just drop onto my desk?” She interrogated, the jovial expression over her face only emboldened. Stammering a bit with his response, Cain barely managed to say “C-cakes” with a straight face through gritted teeth. 

Chuckling softly with a hand covering her mouth, taking a box out of the bag and examining it closely as she jested. “So I sent you to go and off someone slow on payments, and instead of bringing me their head you bring me a fucking cake they’ve baked.” Clearing her throat afterwards, still chuckling softly after.

“I-I baked it..” Cain muttered underneath in his breath, quiet enough to dim his shame but loud enough for her to hear his hushed words. At this point Cain couldn't even bring his head up, once again finding himself oddly fascinated with the grains of wood marking the polished wooden table; a rosy red roused from embarrassment, painting his pallid complexion hues of rouge.

Annette began rapping her inhumanly long fingernails on the desk’s surface, forming a noticeable rhythm within seconds. The rhythm persisted as one of the boxes crept from within the bag, the lid undoing itself with no motion made on either of theirs’ part. “Oh, strawberry! No wonder you didn’t off her, she’s got Earth goodies.” The motion of her moving a free finger over the pink sea of cream and bringing the dollop behind her row of canines was partially visible through the imperfect reflection of the wood, Cain’s poor peripherals picking none of this up.

He couldn’t fathom how his bravado managed to recede before her, it wasn’t as if he became a timid, useless thing when confronted with unfavorable odds-if for anything he found the pressure galvanizing. Perhaps it had to deal with her perplexing humanity, he found her appearance so disarming and comfortable; it wasn’t as if he didn't relent to the whims and words of the  _ other  _ demon he found himself comfortable with-Boog. “I’m not just gonna kill an innocent demon, if you can’t handle me not questioning your orders, t-then you can do away with me.” 

It took a second after he made this statement for his body to stiffen and freeze up, he considered another demon to be  _ innocent _ . Moreso he felt he should chastise himself for being so amicable around Boog to begin with, a demon-someone who has infallibly sinned in their life on Earth and is suffering the consequences. Stuck in a daze, he didn’t notice the fruity scent of the exposed frosting tickle his nose nor the reflection of a crudely cut slice of cake hovering by Annette as she bit into it.

“What, you owe me this~” Chimed the mob boss, words falling on deaf ears as Cain found himself gripped by an ethereal coldness-one that didn’t make him want to rub into a blanket but one that did rouse a shiver from him nonetheless. The clattering of his shivering teeth drowned out the noises of Annette eating more of the slice.

It was normal to waver in his duty, right?

He  _ was _ stranded in a world where each and every demon targeted him for their own selfish goals while he likewise targeted them to achieve his ideals. Yes, despite his grandeur he still was human, and through all of this he cannot remain infallible-especially in such a hostile environment. Raising his head slightly, he was met with the surprising sight of his supposed employer licking their fingers and a quarter of the cake he made unpresent. “No, I take it all back really, it was worth it keeping her alive.” Mused the mob boss, chuckling softly after as if she were amused with every little thing she did or said. “Besides, I knew you wouldn’t kill her-not that I really wanted to and I banked that you didn’t.” She assured, pointing one of her clawed fingers at him, wayward crumbs of the cake still lingering over them and the black nail polish.

The grey demon tilted his head slightly and furrowed his brows in confusion to her statement, mostly put off by her supposed expectations of his actions-despite his actions towards her thus far proving contrary. Hand waved in a dismissive manner, flicking bits of cake off like a dog drying it’s damp coat. “Yeah I figured you’d be confused, so I’ll keep it simple so as to not overwhelm you. I don’t like stepping on the little demons, I’ve done my fair share of it back then and right now I’d  _ much _ rather bite up at those who have much to spare. And for what it’s worth-I’d like to think I’m doing a pretty good job at keeping things as tame as it can be here-despite how impossible it is for order to exist in Hell.” Annette concluded, confident in the claims she espoused.

Once again, he found himself contemplating as to how order and stability seemed so impossible to achieve in Hell, sure the denizens were undeserving and volatile; but any sect of demons bent on controlling the scapes of Hell would find it easy to abuse the power disparity that could exist between individuals. Admittedly a facist regime wasn’t all too appealing, but the question was the existence of order. Perhaps she didn’t consider stability underneath a crushing regime to be true stability; perhaps there was credence to her more selfless claims. So he continued to sit idly, to humor her further.

“I know you don’t care for the political landscape of hell, rather you find it pointless-like putting makeup on a pig or putting a sinner through redemption rehab.”

_ She isn’t wrong about that _

“And I know you don’t fancy yourself a usurper, because you left this spot you could’ve rightfully claimed for yourself empty-and I  _ really  _ know you weren’t planning on letting someone else take the reins.” 

_ Again, spot on _

“Once more I’ve gotta repeat this - I. Don’t. Care.”

_ Huh? _

“So long as you’re making more of these little “hunts” against the big players of Hell,  _ and  _ doing a few odd errands for me now and then, you’ve got a place here. First thing’s first though, go acquaint yourself with Ratka-the one whose mask you did a number on-he’s gonna show you to the armory and the quarters; I’ll radio more of the details to him so he isn’t as confused.” The air of confidence she exuded as she digressed was tongue-stealing; the way she gesticulated and spoke made it seem as if this were the rehearsed segments of a play from the sheer certainty she displayed. 

Uncovering what exactly he couldn’t put his finger on regarding this demon and her mannerisms, it wasn’t their apparent humanity or the such-it was the confidence behind her words but they were placed in both of them. He almost would consider her foolhardy, but there was nothing foolish about the actions she must’ve taken to amass enough assets to cover the slums in its entirety. 

So Cain got up, leaving behind the box of cake she’d already opened and gotten into. 

Footsteps resounding through the vacuous room, he shivered once more-though it wasn’t any physical or ephemeral cold that incited this.

_ It was excitement. _

  
  
  


Charlie and Vaggie weren’t that different from other couples, they also had their moments of dispute, which could then burgeon into verbal disputes. What made this less commonplace of a show was their surprising level of maturity-and what countered this, was the stress of running a rehabilitation center for the sinners of Hell.    
  
Even with the pressure of takin’ care of dickwads like me, their tirades never went beyond heated words laden with bitchy passive-aggressiveness.

So I really had to give props to that grey bastard for getting these twos’ panties in a wad.

The two of them were goin’ at it for the past twenty minutes since Vaggie and I made our way in, likely spurred from Charlie spottin’ the bruises Cain left over her neck.

I was used to my fur hiding bruises and leaving them unnoticed to others; and I didn’t exactly wanna say how Cain managed to hand our collective asses to us.

Vaggie however mentioned that, alongside our attempts stalkin’ him out and assaulting him-knowing full and well that Charlie wouldn’t dig that. 

I felt pangs of guilt gnaw at whatever sin-crusted organ lay underneath my chest, despite our shared disdain for the grey demon,  _ I  _ was the one who roped Vags into this. Of course I’m sure nothin’ wrongs gonn-

“Urrrrghhhhh, I need to take a fucking breather after all the bullshit  _ I’ve  _ put myself through for  _ you _ .” The clang of metal over tile reverberated throughout the lobby and down the halls as the harpoon Vags flung at the floor clattered against it; followed by the rhythmic beat of her footsteps-aggressive and diminishing as she stormed off deeper into the hotel.

Charlie looked at Vags, holding her hand out as if she wanted to run and get her back like in those stupid cheesy, scripted television stores. But something stopped her, left her hands hanging in the air knowing that for now she wouldn’t be able to mend it.

Instinctively, I laughed at the sight, initially unaware that Charlie would start the water works. 

The fangs that regret bore sunk in deeper, bitin’ deep beneath my markless pink fuzz and bruised skin, bitin’ at wounds that would not close. A strange, unnerving feelin’ remorse was; how it ate at me from within until all that remained was my marred, hollowed body.

_ Then again, self destruction was somethin’ I was good at-and it wasn’t like I was worth much beyond my body. _

Makin’ my way off of the comfy spot I got myself in on the sofa, I leaned over Charlie, movin’ one hand to pat her back and another to wipe the tears stainin’ her eyes. 

“There there, toots, take it slow. Vaggs really digs you, just gotta give her some time, she really meant her best…” I noticed by words staggered and awkward, probably ‘cus I don’t really do this supportive shit often-even worse is when they just start cryin’ more and push themselves outta ya’ grip.

Not wantin’ to chase after her, I let her be, givin’ her space’ll be the best bet to keepin’ the two of them happy for the long haul. I sorta just stood there, my tangle of hands hangin’ limply, no effort made to raise them in the same exaggerated way Charlie did. Well, I might as well resume my withering away into nothingness in silence, so I started to s-

Door opening and in came the devil of the discussion himself a good two hours after our scuffle holdin’ a plastic bag in his hands.

_ A bag from Boogles. _

Moving my hands to gesticulate for dramatic effect and maximum sass, I remarked curtly. “When they said Boog’s food was to die for I never expected you to take the easy way and off her for it.” Smiling afterwards to show my pointy pearly whites, a classic maneuver to come across as a smug asshole.

Cain looked completely disinterested, not like he had the grim resting bitch face as he usually does, he just looked confused. “You.. know I  _ actually  _ have a job at Boogles right? He bemusedly replied, chuckling softly under his breath like he remembered somethin’ funny.

_ Somethin’ funny… like the way I look to him apparently _

He sauntered on over to me and handed the bag to me, cautiously placing it into one of my palms. It was only until he neared that I noticed he’s been avoidin’ my gaze, lookin’ away from me-like he truly couldn’t even stand the sight of me. 

After givin’ me the goods, he walked past me like it was nothin’ to him, like he just wanted to hand me the bag and get outta my hair. 

For some reason it felt a little hollowin’, like scoopin’ your insides out kinda hollowing-not the bugs eatin’ ya from inside out.

Yeah, every professional in the biz knows you’ve gotta have an iron-like hide if you wanna stay keep rakin’ the greens-you’ll need ‘em for the expensive as all-hell therapy sessions here. It had to be the way he said it, it went beyond negging or insecurity or truthful disain or even just hate-riddled script-it was like it was an absolute truth that defied all criticism it garnered. It was like he had just then and these decided that I no longer had the  _ one  _ thing that made me of  _ any  _ value to society.

I sat myself down, undoing the lid and watching as translucent pellets dropped onto the pink clouds of frosting, disappearing into the rosy field. 

  
  
  


“Argh, I’m not sure I ever consented to wearing  _ this _ .” I lamented, tugging at the right black vest snugly fit around the grey shirt I was forced into wearing. “Stop your baby whining, this clothes for Komodo group.” Carped Ratka, pushing the final button of the vest into the little hole, smiling as he does so, feeling content at his work. Typically I would contest this supposed familiarity between the two of us, jesting how we’ve assumed the position of an idyllic couple from the fifties, but I felt no reason to make him any angrier at me than he already was.

I’d found myself back in the Obsidian Rose the day after the raid, still a little thrown off by how quickly I’d found myself in a position to safeguard the same edifice I vowed to tear down. 

Ratka without his cracked mask and hood looked human as well, he had soft features for a man with light colored ombre hair, the reddish auburn darkening at the tips like a fox’s coat. Once again it appeared like another demon playing human, with the only betraying features being his beastly ears, facial markings and a tail obscured by his cloak. Though, unlike Annette-I found the vague, fuzzy, blurred sense of acquaintance to be missing. 

I looked at him, how he was still scrutinizing my uniform as if it weren’t only his job, but his fucking passion. “So uh, you mentioned this is for the ‘Komodo group’, what does that mean, exactly?” My gaze unaverted from him, seeing how he stopped his inspection to look up at me. “Daw boss woman didn’t tell you? Hm… There is four group in gang: green is newt, blue is drakes, red is wyvern and black is komodo. Newt is grunt, lot of them here but mostly untrained compared to others; Drake is elite, they work long time or just be good at gun-do very important jobs, Wyvern is flamers, work far-away as shock troop while Komodo is melee, guard ‘Awhnutte’ and sometimes to big jobs.” Ratka elucidated, moving his hands around to accentuate his points and help with his descriptions. 

Seeking confirmation, I waited for Ratka to finish detailing the stereotypes and types of group parties that are thrown before I could ask my question. “So… I’m a CQC unit?” He looked at me, frowning slightly before rummaging in the satchel he had slung over his shoulder, bringing out the now taped-together porcelain mask. “Make best sense of you uh… Gayn? You ponch hard and it hurt, hurt like a bitch, ahh I still cry for my poor  _ maskeraad varjata _ .”

I couldn’t fully decipher what he was saying, both from his broken english and presumably primary language. He was pouting, holding the mask in one hand as gravity undid the crude taping job and a chunk hung loosely, spurring a groan from Ratka. He fished in his bag with his off hand, presumably for some sort of adhesive to mend his ruined mask. 

Seeing as my presence here as no longer necessary, I began to make my way out-stopping when Ratka called out to me. “Wait! You need mask before you see boss wohman today-your mask should be in bag here come take.” Unchanging his position and state of rummaging, I succinctly plucked the golden mask that stuck out in his bag. It was a needlessly baroque looking thing, cracked on the upper left side-leaving part of my face visible-while the right eye had a cream colored covering with a tear-like streak moving down from it. I’d noticed this earlier, but it seemed as if all of the masks had some sort of covering over each of their eyes, I would’ve asked Ratka about it but already I was rather late from leaving the cake back at the hotel. 

Like the clothes, the mask was a perfect fit over my face; the gold obscuring both my vision and my appearance-only a fraction of both remaining. I left the armory of the fourth floor by myself, acquainted enough with the layout to make my way to the elevator, pressing the button for the eight floor when inside. As I walked past the guards, I felt the pressure of piercing cold stares stab through my back, obviously brought about my actions yesterday. I never found myself put off by it, though I worried for my safety-especially if these people were to be his comrades.

I walked through the starry heavens ‘till I travelled the stairs to the ninth floor, moving across the desolate, marble floor towards Annette-who was sipping something out of a glass, green bottle resting on the hardwood desk. She waved at me, still imbibing a fizzy, white drink from the drinking glass while motioning me to sit in the desk opposite to hers as she did before. 

“Mmmm, so you’ve finished making your little delivery-baker boy?” Bantered the crime lord, moving her free hand in a dismissive manner, showing off the expensive-looking obsidian finish over her nails and plethora of bejeweled rings. Annette placed the glass over a coaster on the desk, now reaching for the bottle to pour into a second, empty glass nearby on another coaster. I felt the need to clarify that I disliked drinking, but she quickly interjected- “Don’t worry, it’s only lemon-flavored sparkling water.” As if she read my mind, making me wonder if I dressed myself with my heart on my sleeve and a face that would lose a poker game against a child; once again-she commented- “Don’t worry, you’ve still got resting bitch face dude-I just had a hunch you’d be the type to not drink on the job.” shrugging her shoulders as both the drink and the coaster moved towards me.

_ Well, who was I to refuse a free glass of sparkling water? _

Gingerly lifting the glass up, I pried the mask off of my face, moving the glass to my mouth until I saw her holding hers up towards me. I clinked my glass towards hers, the two of us cheering the other in an unsynchronized manner. She sipped hers gradually, savoring the subtle notes of flavor within the bubbly beverage whilst I gulped mine done, the crackle rubbing against my throat honestly elevating my mood. 

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt as if this may be the best thing to drink  _ ever. _

Placing the glass back down onto the coaster caustionly, ensuring that I maintained the level of care she took out of res-

With a surprising thud, something knocked the glass off of the table-my hand barely catching it before it splintered into a million transparent shards. “Nice reflexes.” Commented the telekinetic demon, likely the culprit in dropping the heavily cloth-wrapped object onto the table. The tattered, drab rags were spun around the item, there was no definable shape of the three foot-long, narrow object. 

“Do you know what this is?” Annette interrogated, unfazed by the repercussions of her disruptive actions, the object crawling across the desk towards Cain. I shook my head no and sighed, putting the empty glass over the coaster and moving it to the side, apprehensive about touching the entombed item. “It’s the flamberge of the Komodo captain, the black-vested one you killed first-or was it second?” Moving the sword closer, this time with her hands. “I think you’re the best fit for it, being the only person other than Kraguel to not go insane when holding onto it. Normally I wouldn’t be so upset about it going to waste-but the fact that it cuts through both mind and metal like a hot knife through butter is indescribably valuable.” Exemplified Annette, no hand motions made to enunciate their claim.

Unravelling the covering, I released the charcoal hued blade-immediately chilling the air around us. It was a black, cruel, jagged looking thing, there seemed to be no semblance of symmetry across the sword save for the masterfully crafted hilt which boldly had gold lines swimming through the black leather. I couldn’t shake off the chill that consistently reverberated throughout my body as I held it, the corner of my eye barely noticing how Annette too shivered lightly. 

“Hm.. There’s something I need you to do; and it involves the last of Frankie’s goons.” She struggled to say, her teeth lightly chattering despite the distance between her and the sword relative to me. “I need you to expunge the last of the remnants before they can cause any damage to what I’m doing. Now I don’t have all of the deets but from what some of the Newts have picked up, they should be holed up in one of their old safehouses on the north-west-most side of the slums, a bit into Imp city.” Annette stopped, clearing her throat and wiping her now sweat laden brow dry. “They should only be about twenty strong, so there should be little trouble in wiping this stain clean, correct?” She extorted, sighing shortly after. 

I got the feeling as if I should ‘sheathe’ this blade back with it’s wrappings, as to stop the discomfort it’s causing her. I was surprised how she didn’t cover it up herself or coerce me into doing it, though not to the extent of warranting me bringing it up. Mask once again obscuring me, I made my way up, Annette breathing out ‘good luck baker boy’ as I left.

  
  


I couldn’t handle stayin’ cooped up at the hotel any longer, the atmosphere felt so thick that I could’ve just taken a knife and cut a slice out from it. Gettin’ out and going to the slums always felt nice, even with these green and blue suited bozos strollin’ around now-though I’ve got my piece hidden in my coat in case any of them wants ta’ step to me.

_ Well…  _ **_six_ ** _ pieces _

Though I had ta’ thank them-Imp city wasn’t exactly known fer it’s pleasant company, but those same green suits have been keepin’ the little bastards in check pretty well. 

_ Bang _

_ Yikes, it seems like they’re takin’ care of ‘em a little  _ **_too_ ** _ well. _

The resoundin’ sound of shots bein’ fired and pain-filled wailing distantly rang out from a buildin’ a good few hundred feet ahead of me to the left-a little dilapidated thing with no apparent roof. 

If I were a normal demon, I’d be singin’ song of caution to myself and tryin’ ta make myself as far away from that shithole as I can. But what regular demon actively tries ta take strolls in fucking  _ Imp City _ of all places. 

The sounds of lead flying and released screams died down by the time I managed to get within a reasonable distance of the place, replaced with the silent rhythm of footsteps originating from within the building. This shabby piece of shit looked far too small to hold that many belligerent dumbasses, there had to have been more to the inside. Creepin’ around into the ‘entrance’-which was a door ripped from its hinges and thrown a good few feet away-I saw next to nothin’ but broken and smelled nothin’ but the stench of ash and liquor. The booze drenched flooring was rickety and crumblin’, as if it would take nothin’ more than a few heavy steps to crack the wood underneath your heel. Almost leavin’ under the presumption that I was in the wrong dive, I then noticed a few floorboards unlike the rest-lyin’ horizontal whilst the others lay vertical to the entrance. 

I felt my three of my hands slip into the inside of my white and pink jacket, scroungin’ for the Tommys I was carrying. Feelin’ the wooden grip, I was suddenly startled when the trap door burst open, out slitherin’ a grey faced shrouded by a cracked gold mask with white hair and long ruddy tan horns topping their head.

_ It was Cain _

My body began to tremble slightly, slowly movin’ back as he lumbered upwards from the cellars. Grey dressed in black dressed in red, holding some sorta large, black shiv that likewise shimmered crimson from the sunlight bleedin’ through the cracks in the roof. The chunk of his face that wasn’t obscured by the mask, he looked like he was soberin’ up from bein’ absolutely fuckin gowed the night prior-noticeable from those deep bags under his lidden eyes. 

Still, I couldn’t shake this sense of trepidation as he ever so slowly crept out of the basement, letting the trap door fall flatly when he was fully out from underneath. I felt my blood run cold and shivers travel up my body as he cracked his neck slightly and sighed-sigh muffled by the mask’s golden lips. 

Golden bulbs struggling to hold their lock onto mine, “You’ve got a rather nasty habit of following me, I’d say I should beat this out of you but I’m certain you’d enjoy that.” Breathed the demon, words as ragged as his attire and equally as malice lined. 

My throat dried, words that once wanted to and would’ve left my mouth now stuck in my throat, the blockage suffocating me and having my chest scream for release. It felt as if at any second I could be reduced to a whimpering white and pink stain over the floor, devoid of all that made me but the negative.

_ Though, did I really have much more than that? _

I didn’t even need to see his eyes on his face for me to feel his glare sharpen. “I don’t know what’s eating at my fucking mind more, this shitty magic sword or having the displeasure of being forced to witness your hideous grimace for a third time today.” Like a dagger dipped in a vat of venom and spite he cut at me with his insults, cut at my once hardened psyche like a… like a-

  
  
  


Within an instant one of Angel’s right hands cried out claret tears as he did with translucent ones.

Dribbling. Flowing. Gushing. Spilling. 

Ripe juices of a hunted deer pelting the snow, red over white, red over white.

He felt memories he thought he’d forlorned-memories buried deep within the recess of his mind-resurfacing and melding with what was now.

He felt memories he’d never experienced, memories of things he’d consider alien and memories of things he would’ve confused as his own.

Lingering taste. Lying, waiting, lingering on the tip of his tongue and the roof of his consciousness. Feeling the dormant high he thought he’d forlorn-experiences buried deep within the recesses of his neurons-resurfacing and melding with  _ is  _ now.

He felt the bruises, the strikes, the lashes. Deep blue and purple stains over the soil concealed by flowing fields of white grass. 

Valentino’s touch was harsh and marking, branding Angel with imposed servility. He was like a helpless insect trapped in the spider’s grand assortment of webbing, claustrophobic and restrictive. Forcing habits of old to renew.

Just as it appeared, these invading thoughts receded; notions of recollection and the melding of then and now collapsed into only the latter. Blurred dizzying vision clearing. The cracked, derelict edifice which housed little more than an entrance below and cracks for red to seep into harbored both him and Cain.

Hunched over, the grey demon groaned through his strained larynx-a raspy, glottal thing that writhed under your skin like an army of maggots making you their nest. “Damn it… swinging this thing is still taking a lot to get used to…” Cain lamented, before abruptly swinging the sword upward. 

Motions and footwork moved in an abrupt and staggered manner, but the cut itself was a blur of black shimmering red under the light. The cut missed Angel by a few inches, once again the same telegraphed dance before black crescents cut at the air. Clumsy, gloved hands scanning for the armaments he carried before wildly spraying lead in front of him. 

Angel Dust felt guilt and regret wring at his frame, seeing Cain buckle over-dripping red of his own all over his pant legs and the beer-soaked floor; but he was succinctly surprised, as he saw the horned demon resist collapsing and lurch upwards, the slight clanking of metal over concrete reverberating through the lonely building. No sounds exchanged after this, a brief respite spurred by confusion and recovery-broken by the grey demon floundering forwards.    
  


The thunder cracking rhythm of six tommy guns firing, the sloshing of flesh and shattering of concrete reciprocating this, the whistling of the wind spurred by the delirious slashes Cain made; all of this was defended for Angel Dust, for he could only hear the  _ breathing _ . The accelerating cadence in which both of them participated in together increased as the seconds drew on, ignoring the pauses in firing to reload or the sounds of concrete being torn asunder by Cain’s flamberge.

This was the song they were dancing to.

Angel reacted quickly to Cain’s off hand reaching for something holstered in his right hip-firing at the hand and causing it to drop the revolver it was pyring for. As the handcannon loosely fell onto the floor, he narrowly skirted around the swings, pelting Cain incessantly with rounds all the while he reloaded some of the dried up guns. The grey demon avoided dodging or blocking, only taking defensive precautions regarding his head, holding his sword or free hand near his skull as he moved low to the ground-using upward swings. 

As the fight drew on for more than several seconds Angel found his jacket and breath ragged, all but one of his prized gats had been carved into decorative paperweights. The sickles Cain painted across the sky became little more than the motions of a jagged black blade, the bows and ribbons that tore at the world around Angel Dust became less and less numerous ‘till the sword stopped swinging. Once more metal clattered against the tattered wood floors, Cain’s grip over the ebony handle loosed as his fingers tightened into fist. A wordless exchange of a thousand words as he lurched towards the spider demon, pushing the two firearms aside with his left hand and pinning Angel with the other.

Trembling hand pushing down on my right shoulder soon joined the other pinning my other shoulder. I felt the stark contrast between his grasp then and now, how it seemed as if he were on the brink of faltering. Knowing I had one chance to break free from his grasp, I ripped my legs up to my chest and kicked at him full force-sending him flying back a good few feet into the air-still landing on his legs. Blood dribbling from his mouth as he was left heaving from the impact, sparingly offering just enough time to recover the machine gun knocked out of his hand. Angel Dust hurriedly clicked the trigger-pointing the gun in the general direction of the aggressor, a few clicks in accordance indicated that the drum was barren and akin to the magazine he now found himself despondent. 

Closing the distance with nothing to worry about, Cain succinctly forced the two of them into a melee. Angel found himself requiring all three hands on each side to resist one of Cain’s, narrowing his options and further burning through his waning endurance. They exchanged slow swings of their fists and breaths, both of which growing heavier and heavier as the fight progressed. Angel couldn’t count the number of sweat trails dripping from Cain’s blood and dirt caked brow, and he counted himself lucky for his fuzz. He noticed their clothes even further dirtied and shredded, skin tentatively peeking through the rips and tears wrought by their desperate skirmish. 

They’d almost entirely stopped throwing punches after realizing how fruitless it was; Cain resorting to tackling Angel Dust to the floor once more-this time jabbing his knee into the spider’s flank. Groaning in pain, Angel found himself lacking the strength and means to resist, only capable of feebly struggling against the arms pinning him down. “Y-you sure like pinning me down, don’t ya? But it seems like every ya do ya just freeze-” Angel’s stammered words promptly interrupted by Cain’s head crashing into his, a debilitating headbutt leaving him seeing double of the grey demon. The taste of muck was replaced with iron in Angel’s mouth, through the dizzying vision he could make out Cain’s still masked face looming inches over his, the last thing he saw before his vision darkened and eyes shut.

  
  


“I seriously can’t believe the two of you actually nearly beat the other to death, how is this even possible you’ve known each other for like two days!” 

Seeds of ache sewn deep beneath my skin now sproutin’ above, tuggin’ and tearin’ all across my bod. My head still feelin’ like I let some jacked up bozo run a train on it with his equally yoked pals without lube; only capable of pickin’ up bits and pieces of my surroundin’s and the moments prior. 

“The two of you have a lot of explaining to do; how did any of this even happen?”

I turned my head towards the noise, confirming my suspicions that it was Charlie lambasting two poor souls with one of her ceaseless tirades. 

“Oh look, he’s finally awake-now he can fill his side of the story too.”

_ Wait, huh? _

Putting her hands over her hips in her classic ‘Charlie lecturing pose’, a steely gaze directed at me. “Ugh, I can’t believe both of you actually tried to kill the other!” With no hesitation I immediately exclaimed “It was his fault!” Surprised when I found someone else mimickin’ the same words I said.

Once more, I swiveled my head to see who it originated from-unsurprised when I saw it was Cain. He glowered at me, still in his tattered black shirt and vest but without the gilded mask of ‘The Newts’ that he had plastered over his mug earlier. Through the bits of skin I could see, he was flawless-in the sense he had no bullet holes despite me makin’ swiss cheese outta him many times over-he still had that piss ugly mug paintin’ his mush. 

I was about ready to get real fuckin’ livid, but I felt somethin; bite at me from nowhere specific with, sinkin’ real cold fangs deep into me all over my person. A searing pain complimented by freezing undertones. Not wantin’ to make a big fuss about it I kept my mouth closed, tears wellin’ up in my eyes but never wantin’ to leave ‘em. 

“Urgh I can’t handle it if the two of you are going to be like this, hmmmmmm… THAT’S IT, THE TWO OF YOU ARE NOW UNDER HOUSE ARREST. Ahhh yes, house arrest together should be the perfect remedy for the two of your”

Gripped by an ephemeral pain I couldn’t muster enough energy to gripe about the mandatory stay, instead forced to wallow in Cain’s numerous complaints over the matter. Charlie shaking her head, not having any of Cain’s incessant bitching and opting to drown him out and restate herself. 

Oh fuck.

_ I’m not going to last more than two hours here with this piece of shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this being released a month after-I'm pretty slow and writing and I have a lot of stuff happening around me at the moment alongside working on other creative endeavors. Please leave comments on what to change and any other improvements I could make, I live for critiques.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Again please leave any comments here if you liked it, have any questions or any critiques. I really hope you enjoyed reading this.


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